


Put your head on my shoulder

by UnstableMable



Category: RuPaul's Drag Race (US) RPF
Genre: 1940's - 1950's, 1950's Suburban life, F/F, Fluff, Katya is a mom, Katya is smart but a bit oblivious, Mentions of Other Queens (RuPaul's Drag Race), Nurse Katya, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Some angst, There's a character death but it's neither of our girls!!, Trixie has a beard, Useless Lesbians, musician Trixie
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-15 06:02:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 27,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29431398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UnstableMable/pseuds/UnstableMable
Summary: “They truly are an odd pair those two. Look at the snazzy shoes on him!” Katya’s pulled out of her trans.“Hmmm, what?”“The new neighbours, haven’t you seen them?” Oh right, the new neighbours, she had totally forgotten about them. Seen them around a couple of times, driving to and from the house across the street. Dragging in groceries and what look like musical instruments although Katya has no real way of knowing as she doesn’t play any herself and isn’t by any means a connoisseur in that area. She still hasn’t seen the woman’s face, somehow always as her back turned to Katya, it’s honestly a tad annoying.
Relationships: Trixie Mattel/Katya Zamolodchikova
Comments: 42
Kudos: 48





	1. Out of the mist your voice is calling.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone!  
> This is my very first fic, I hope it's something worth reading.  
> Forgive me in advance for any spelling mistakes and typos.  
> I really like reading fics set in the '50s and there really aren't enough of those with our girls so I decided to write one myself. 
> 
> I've done my best with the historical accuracy but I've never been to America and I certainly wasn't alive in the 1950s so apologies if something isn't quite right for the time period. 
> 
> Warning: there are references to violence, WW2, PTSD, racism and homophobia throughout the entire fic, although very brief. 
> 
> Anyways, enjoy lovely people!  
> Stay safe, wear your masks, wash your hands, sneeze in your elbow! <3

It is a mundane Tuesday, like any other.

It’s been drizzling since Sunday. It must have been raining heavier during the night because when she looks out the window there are large puddles on the road that reflect the grey overcast sky. Katya is sitting on the burgundy settee in the front room of her large Boston home. She’s been contemplating what to do with the information she’s just received over the phone, about an hour ago. Maybe it was longer than that, she’s not quite sure for what extend of time she’s been staring out the window at this point.

She wants to call her mother; wishes she could ask her for advice- what the next steps are in this surreal situation she never thought she’d find herself in- not this young anyways. _I mean, Blyad'! She isn’t even thirty yet._ She curses herself internally for fantasizing about this sometimes, well, not exactly this, but certainly a life in which it wouldn’t have been necessary – or at the very least, so much easier – for her to have married him. Not that he’s a bad husband, he’s never been a contrary person. In fact, he’s always been very sweet, but she’s never been able to see him as more than a good and reliable friend. He could not give her what she aches for even if he really tried his very best.

They had met in 1943 in England where he’d just come back from having been sent overseas. Katya hadn’t been overseas at all- _except England of course but that’s beside the point_. She had been working in the field hospitals, taking care of the soldiers who were brought back from Japan, France and Italy. All over really. She had seen her fair share of suffering and so had he and maybe that’s what they had bonded over within the confines of that grizzly canvas tent. He had been stern and cold with everyone, and frankly quite shell shocked from the whole awful ordeal, but he had smiled at Katya when she had reached to shake his hand.

She had felt a true sense of pride when she had told him a dumb joke about the enemy soldiers and he had actually let out a low thunderous laugh, and the other nurses had ogled the pair in jealousy. It had made her blush and ever since then she had tried to make him laugh, especially when they were in the vicinity of the other girls who were getting cattier and cattier with her. Katya didn’t care much about that though. She knew this would be her ticket out- or at least she hoped, aspired it to be. Back then she hadn’t known yet, hadn’t realised that she couldn’t love him in that way, and she didn’t exactly have a great reference point when it came to loving marriages anyways.

She had already made it out of Russia so really this life was so much better than she would ever have if she had not been sent to live with her upper-class aunt. Svetlana, who had fled long before Katya and her sister were even born, had worked her sultry soviet charm on a wealthy, innocent English businessman and married him within a month of meeting him after which he’d taken her home to his mansion just outside of London.

So really, Katya’s prospects were already so much brighter than if she had stayed in that tiny house, shack really – _even the rodents roaming the kitchen floor couldn’t live there comfortably._ On the banks of the Volga. Katya was born on a frosty Friday morning on the first day of May in 1925 in that tiny wooden shack that was barely still standing upright. Her father had secured a job in Moscow but her parents, and truthfully the whole village, the whole country, had suffered so much during the great famine a couple of years earlier. The peasant farmers in the Volga region had never quite gotten back on their hind legs.

When her mother had died and left a 16-year-old Katya and her younger sister Lilia behind in that rotting barn they called their home. Their father had come back from Moscow for a midweek and had huffed and puffed and eventually made the executive decision to send both of them to England- _England of all places! psikh!_ He was a socialist after all and the English bourgeoisie certainly wouldn’t be a good influence on his daughters. He had little choice though, as he couldn’t very well leave the girls alone and it was positively out of the question to take them to Moscow with him and sleep in the dormitory of the factory he worked at now, couldn’t very well give up that job and come home either.

So off they went to England and Katya had enrolled in school there and when she had turned eighteen and the war was in full effect, she’d made the decision to join in and asked to be trained as a nurse – _If she couldn’t do something good for her fatherland she might as well do it here!_ She’d received a stern look from her English uncle, but her aunt had pinched her pale cheek and whispered that her mother would be proud, and that was really all the motivation she needed to go through with it. She had lied about being 21 and had enrolled in the Red Cross training programme. One year in she had been sent off to that field hospital because of a shortage in nurses, never mind her lack of training or experience.

That’s how she got to meet him, John; her _‘American dream’_ , her future husband, her golden ticket to the even sunnier future she fancied for herself. She hadn’t exactly been in love with him, but she figured that would come with time, she’d liked him enough and he truly was a good choice for a husband if you really had to have one – _and God knows it is better to have one of those!_ Notably one like John. A doctor no less, and a good looking, young one at that. Not that she really looked at him like that, but she’s got a pair of eyes and she had seen how the other nurses had been staring at him, mouths agape, when he’d roll up his sleeves before busying himself with patients. They all swooned over him when he talked to them, but he would only pay attention to Katya.

So, she said “да” when he popped the question and she had said it in her native language because she could tell he liked it by the way his face would flush, and he would chuckle softly. They had married when the war had ended, and he had taken her back home to his apartment in Boston where he grew up and had secured himself a well-paying job at the hospital and he had even asked her if she wanted to work there as well.

She could maybe become a midwife if she wanted. He knew she could study for it, he always prided her on being smart and ambitious. She really liked that about him so much that she had confessed to him she wanted to become a doctor too. When he had cocked his head to the side and told her that she was no doubt smart enough but she should wait until after they’d had a child, she had frozen in fear and cried herself to sleep that night. She wanted a lot from life but becoming a mother had never really been an ambition of hers. Soon after, of course, she’d found herself pregnant and a stay-at-home mom to be.

Katya is still staring out the window, the clouds have not let up and the rain is a little more insistent now. She takes a deep breath and rubs at the corrugated junction where her eyebrows meet that is now beginning to give her a dull headache. So lost in her thoughts that she almost misses the kerfuffle outside.

A baby blue Cadillac convertible with a cream hood has parked itself in front of one of the houses across the street and an extravagant looking couple pop out either side of it. She spots the man first, his yellow suit is patterned and stands out even brighter against his dark skin, he is wearing a hat that matches the suit and there is an inch or two of skin exposed between the legs of his suit trousers and his pointy cream patent shoes. When he turns to grab something that looks like a guitar case out of the backseat, he is grinning wide and shows a row of white teeth and a pink tongue as he laughs out loud at something the woman must have said.

Katya can’t see her face because she has her back to the window and is walking towards the front door of the house they just parked in front of. She’s wearing a cherry blossom dress with three-quarter sleeves and here must be at least three petticoats underneath it because it's puffed so wide around her slim waist. She has white frilly gloves on her hands and white pumps on her feet and they make her skin look really tanned. Her hair is covering her back in a cascade of golden curls that end just below her shoulders and she’s a bow in the same colour as her dress.

Katya wants to pull her hands through her hair to separate the curls and – _Son of a bitch!_ The goddamned phone startles her back into gear. She doesn’t want to answer it, really doesn’t want to deal with all this right now, not ever. She wants to go to her bedroom, the one she shares with her husband and crawl under their sheets, the ones they slept in last night, and pull them over her head and fall into a deep sleep only to emerge from her short hibernation tomorrow morning and continue life as it has been for the past four years they’ve lived here. But that’s evidently out of the question because she needs to speak to a lot of people, arrange things, set things in motion and she needs to figure out how to tell her 2-year-old daughter that her dad just died in a car crash, on this mundane, dreary Tuesday morning that was to be perfectly boring.

Until it wasn’t.

Katya awakes with a startle; she still gets these ghastly gruesome vivid dreams from the war and John used to get them too. They would joke about it when they would both have them, and they’d wake each other up with cries and tears and visions of lost limbs and gangrenous skin. One would hold the other until their heartbeat would calm itself and they would rub each other’s backs and comb fingers through hair until the visions would fade. Katya would often whisper to him in Russian, saying nothing but loose words and pet names here and there while kissing his cheek as his arms were around her waist and his face was pressed up against her breast. John, in turn, would caress her hair and rock her side to side telling her “you’re alright, you’re safe with me, I’ll protect you”.

This nightmare was a particularly horrid one of which the details are already starting to fade but she knows that this time it wasn’t some faceless soldier she was trying to help. It was him, and she couldn’t -couldn’t help him and he bled out right there in her arms on that dingy hospital bed in the middle of rural England so, so far from home and comfort.

She sits up and reaches to her right, but he isn’t there, of course he isn’t, she knows that but for a split second she forgot. She isn’t alone in bed though, Oksana is fast asleep with her legs pulled under her and her bottom pushed up in the air, face down pressed into the mattress. She’s knuckling her plush rabbit, it’s long ears rubbing over her tiny, flushed face and her hands are clasping the soft animal so hard that Katya is almost worried it will constrict the blood flow to her chubby little fingers.

The nightmares had gotten so much less frequent when her daughter was born, for the both of them, seeing as they now have someone to consider and worry over, and to put it bluntly, they really weren’t getting enough sleep to have any dreams at all. They have come back full force since Katya got the call two weeks ago and she has, against her aunt’s advice, resorted to letting Oksana sleep in bed with her – _yestestvenno, it’s so the little one will sleep better auntie Sveta!_ Katya knows full well it’s more for her own benefit than her daughters but she’s steadfast on keeping it this way, no way in hell is she sleeping in this bed alone right now.

Katya studies Oksana’s face for a while to let her thumping heart relax. She sees so much of John in her mannerisms but when she’s still like this she looks more like Katya’s mother and sister than like him. She’s glad for it now, couldn’t bear to look at any kind of resemblance of him, not when he can’t comfort her back to slumber when he’s left her all alone to deal with this mess that her life has become.

Now she’s a 27-year-old widow for heaven’s sake. With a tiny creature who needs all of her attention all of the time, and they have a little bit of money saved and she’ll get whatever army pension John’s owed, but she’ll have to start working again soon and then what? _Blyad! What a shitshow._ Katya feels her heart starting to thunder away in her chest again and she’s trying to swallow something, but it’s too large in her throat, sticks painfully against the walls of her oesophagus.

She’s trying to focus on something else, eyes pursuing shadows around the room looking for something to pull her out of these thoughts. They land on the bookcase in the corner, the bookcase they had put up here so that Katya could keep all her favourite literature in the bedroom, give her easy access after a long day of hard work at the hospital, and later, a long day of chores while holding a chubby crying creature in her arms.

At least that’s what John told her its purpose was, for easy access. Katya’s pretty sure it was so that the guests, John’s work friends and the neighbours wouldn’t see the battered copies of Laura by Vera Caspary and her whole entire collection of Virginia Woolf. Never mind Le Deuxième Sexe by Simone de Beauvoir _-yes in French because she might not have a fancy medical degree yet, but she’ll be damned if that’s stopping her from learning. She has a brain, and a good one at that and she will, gosh darn it, use it to the fullest!_

She knew he had an idea when he had looked at her sympathetically when he found her reading de Beauvoir’s novel over and over and when she had paced around the living room the day she found out she had a small human growing inside her and she had had a little meltdown and cried until her eyes stung and her throat was so sore she couldn’t speak. Not that she didn’t want the child, the prospect of it just scared her. It felt like submission to this boring suburban life she was already living. Sure she was already married but having a child really cemented the whole thing and she would have to spend the rest of her days with him, she was likely going to do that anyways but still…

When their baby had been born their bond had simultaneously grown stronger and weaker. They had become a better team caring for this new life in their midst, this little helpless thing they both loved so fiercely, and yet they had grown apart as partners. They didn’t have a very impetuous sex life to begin with. He tried of course, and she let him, even enjoyed it for as much as she was into it. They just didn’t have much time for that when the baby was there and crying and keeping them up at night, and Katya was always so so tired after a long day and so was John and the thought of getting pregnant again frightened her to no end.

So, they really didn’t do much of anything, other than cuddle in bed on nights when one of them had ghastly dreams or giving each other pecks on the mouth in the mornings and evenings when he’d come home from the hospital. When anything happened Katya would be extremely careful as to not let him finish inside of her and she kept her eyes closed most of the time, conjuring images of Elizabeth Taylor, Eartha Kit and Audrey Hepburn.

She knew he had to have a notion of it, she thought so, although he never said a word of it. Until one day when she had been cleaning under the bed in the spare room and she found a stack of magazines filled with lascivious photographs of women with wide hips and voluptuous breasts looking lustfully over their shoulder at the camera while bending over to pull down a garment. She had stared at them for a short eternity and opened one. The child was sound asleep in the next room and her husband wasn’t due home till late in the evening, and these women were so beautiful, and it made her fingers tingle and her mouth dry.

He had walked in on her on the guest bed, with her head thrown back and magazine open on centrefold, curvy blonde on full display, in one hand and the other straining against the crotch of her slacks. He had looked at her shocked crimson face, sweat dripping down the side of it onto her collarbone. She had stumbled an apology, but it came out in Russian and he couldn’t understand. He had just given her a small nod, left the room for her to collect herself and later on when she had served him conciliation pancakes with hand-whipped cream and berries and syrup, he had kissed her on the cheek and whispered: “she really is beautiful isn’t she.” And they never spoke of it again, but the next day the magazine had found themselves among her feminist literature in the upstairs bookcase.

One night when their baby had been about 14 months and she’d started sleeping longer, giving John and Katya a chance to actually get some rest for a couple of consecutive hours. Katya had started to get ready for bed and John brushed past her into the ensuite to go through his little night-time ritual. When she got to the bed, she saw her, spread open on her pillow. She couldn’t look away; it was a strange mixture of embarrassment and arousal. They had not spoken about the incident and Katya was glad for it. 

All of a sudden, the room had felt smaller, the air stifling and her head filled with static. She had figured he just helped himself while she was in their bathroom and forgotten to put it away. Katya had tried to clear her vision, blinking hard a couple of times, willing for the room to stop spinning when two large hands pressed strong fingers into the fat of her hips, pushing her down on the mattress. The hands had slowly hiked up her satin nightgown, slipping it over her hips, coming to a halt at her breasts. “Lean on your elbows” he had simply said. “Just look at her, I’ll do the rest”.

He had eaten her out painfully slow from behind while she looked at the beautiful blonde woman resting on her pillow. She had whined and whimpered and cried out until he had put his fingers inside her and she had fallen on to the sheets convulsing. He had quickly finished inside of her and she couldn’t find it in herself to be hypervigilant, not when he was always so sweet to her. She knew he was good and that she’d try to be a good wife to him, and she’d even give him another child if he so wished for one.

Today the next-door neighbour is coming over. She has been a solid rock in Katya’s life ever since they moved into that big house in the suburbs and Katya had felt so out of place with her Soviet accent and her communist upbringing. Pat had been nice to her immediately, had never said a word about her nationality - Although she was now officially an American citizen.

Pat was very short woman with petite frame and greying hair, maybe somewhere in her early fifties. She had become a widow a couple of years before Katya and John had moved in and she treated Katya like her long-lost daughter. It was just what Katya needed. Since the Lord had graced them with a daughter - _Katya did not see it like this, she had worked damned hard for the critter for nine months, and frankly she still was!_

Pat had been more than happy to help, first little bits and bops around the house and the garden, and eventually, she had come to cook for Katya once a week and had been babysitting Oksana once a month so John and Katya could go out and take a breather. She was godsent, or at least that’s how Katya thought of her - _her American mom._ As the years had passed, she had started calling her that and Pat loved it.

Oksana is in her highchair being fed spoonful’s of homemade apple compote when she hears the sliding doors to the garden open. She can’t see them as she has her back to them, but she knows it’s her by the way Oksana casts her short, chubby arms in the air, spoon flying along with them, landing on the floor.

“Hello sweethearts, I’ve brought fresh groceries and vegetables from the garden.” _How?_ Katya thinks - _It’s only March._

“Babooosh” Oksana slurs. Katya had been teaching her to say it properly, but she always swallows the last part. Katya thinks it’s quite endearing and she’s sure Pat does too. She’s dressed the part today with a big scarf wrapped over her head and shoulders and a floral dress. Oksana giggles loudly and sticks her short arms out to her _babushka_ , wriggling her fingers as a signal for _Please pick me up and hug me._ Pat does just that. She looks down at the floor and the mess of apple and spoon that reside there now and sighs, looks at Katya with raised eyebrows.

“Tough morning already dear?” Katya simply shrugs, can’t do much else. Oksana had woken up early in between Katya’s fits of soundless crying and had started screeching at the top of her lungs for Katya to hold her and for her to _please, please bring dada home._

“why don’t you go take a nice shower and get ready for the day and I’ll clean this mess and make you some actual breakfast, huh?” Katya gives her a weak smile. “thanks mama” she says, leaves Pat in the kitchen with a kiss on the cheek and a squirming baby on her arm.

After a hot shower, Katya actually feels a little rejuvenated. Feels like maybe today won’t be so bad. She picks a soft red jumper out of her closet, it’s one of her favourites. The one with the straight neckline and the sleeves that end just above her elbows. She pairs it with black and white gingham slacks that have become a little baggy on her, Pat has been pestering her to _eat, eat, eat my darling!_ She knows she’s lost weight, but she can’t really bring herself to care that much right now.

She knows she should care by the way her cheekbones poke out over her hollow cheeks. Her electric eyes seem to have lost their sparkle and now look dull and empty, dark purple rings below them. Nothing a bit of powder cannot fix. She eyes the beauty products on her vanity, most of them fairly new. She had been tricked into buying them by that Avon lady who had looked at her from under her dark lashes and she hadn’t been able to say no. The woman had rung her up, collected the rest of her things and swiftly pulled the front door closed behind her, gone to never be seen again (at least not by Katya so far).

Not half bad, she thinks, as she inspects herself in the mirror. She knows she has a critical eye, but she is actually quite pleased with the results today. Her face looks relatively fresh and healthy, her cheeks have some colour and don’t look so gaunt between her blue eyes and red mouth. She combs her unruly curls into submission and pulls them into a tight ponytail. Styles it with a black silk scarf like she always does and rearranges her short fringe so it sits nonchalantly onto her forehead. No bother in trying complicated hairstyles when you have a small toddling thing clawing to your shoulders, tugging ringlets out of your coiffe.

“They truly are an odd pair those two. Look at the snazzy shoes on him!” Katya’s pulled out of her trance.

“Hmmm, what?”

“The new neighbours, haven’t you seen them?” Oh right, the new neighbours, she had totally forgotten about them. Seen them around a couple of times, driving to and from the house across the street. Dragging in groceries and what look like musical instruments although Katya has no real way of knowing as she doesn’t play any herself and isn’t by any means a connoisseur in that area. She still hasn’t seen the woman’s face, somehow always as her back turned to Katya, it’s honestly a tad annoying.

“Right, Ana is down for her nap and you’ve got a clean kitchen and bathroom. I say we wash those bedsheets of yours and air that duvet for a bit, wadaya say?”

“Thanks mama, I really appreciate it. You know, right?”

“Of course, my darling, anything for you.” Pat has been helping out almost every day now since he passed. After the funeral last week, she couldn’t bring herself to get out of that burgundy settee in the front room and do chores. She just sat there in her pyjama’s, staring out the window. Only barely had the energy to look After Oksana.

Pat calls her Ana, so did John and so do all the other Americans. Katya really wanted a Russian name for her daughter, her legacy. Had tried to bargain names like Vanya and Zhenya or Zoya but John had thought that would make life unnecessarily difficult for their child as they all sounded too, well, communist. They’d settled for Oksana, Katya got her Russian name, and the Americans could just pretend the first three letters didn’t exist. Katya thought that was as good a deal as she was going to get, and it was pretty fitting actually because she was certainly in the habit of making such deals. On top of that, Oksana meaning ‘most beautiful women’ in her mother tongue, and that was the absolute truth.

After all the chores are finished, they have dinner at the breakfast bar in the kitchen. Katya is perched on her barstool trying to distract Oksana who is persistently slapping her little fingers in her mashed potato. Pat just sits there and laughs around her fork. “Bet you were just like that when you were that age.” She says ones she’s swallowed her food.

“Wouldn’t know.” Katya smiles.

“Well, I wouldn’t put it past you. She’s just as much of a character as you are. Just you wait until she starts reading your Woolf novels too!” Pat replies.

“You think they make feminist books for toddlers? I’ll have to ask Violet.”

The American lets out an obstreperous laugh. “Speaking of… You should go visit the library soon, you haven’t been in so long and it always makes you happy doesn’t it? And I know how well you get on with this Violet. She sure seems to find you the good books too.” She says with a wink.

Pat gets it, she marched with the Women’s suffrage at the mere age of 17. Tells her stories of how she danced the night away with her friends the day women got the right to vote.

“You’re right, I should take Xana into town soon. She’d like some new books too. I’ll take John’s stuff to that place for veterans. They’d probably good use of it. Seems like a shame to throw out perfectly clothing.” Katya sighs.

They have been going through his stuff and sorting out what is still good to be worn and what they should donate. They’re keeping a couple of his good suits to sell in spring at the neighbourhood’s annual yard sale. It has been a very strange thing to have to do but she feels a little more peaceful from it. She will miss him, sure, but she knows she’ll be fine. Her and her little ankle-biter.

The chaotic mess of Katya’s waist-length blonde ringlets are obstructing her vision as she bent down to struggle a pair of woollen gloves on her daughter’s hands. It is still very cold in Boston, despite the oncoming spring. Really winter didn’t let up until well into the month of May here and Katya is used to the cold, it had been so much worse on the banks of the Volga. She wants to protect this child from the cold though, even if she’ll just pull the gloves off in mere minutes. A bright warm voice startled her upright again.

“Jolly goodmornin’ Ma’am” Katya whips her head around so fast it makes her eyes cross slightly. She is confronted with a happy looking man wearing a Lime green suit with a powder pink pocket square. It’s an odd combination of colours, but Katya thinks he looks surprisingly dashing.

“Oh sorry, I never meant to startle you! Hello, I’m Sam, Sam Mattel. Me and my girl Trixie just moved across from you.” Katya nods, sudden realisation that it has been three weeks and she’s still not been over to introduce herself, bring them baked goods like the welcoming neighbour she is. “Oh yes, lovely to meet you. I’m sorry I haven’t gotten around to introducing myself earlier, the past few weeks have been quiet, Uhm, busy.” Mr Mattel gives her a sympathetic smile. “No harm, Mrs Robinson, right?” Katya blinks. “Uhm yes well, I suppose it’s Ms now. Call me Katya and this is my daughter- A high-pitched voice interrupts them from near their feet. “Ana”.

“We heard about your husband, our sincerest condolences.” Katya manages to give him a tight smile, the _thank you_ barely makes it out alive. “Well Katya, if you’re ever in a pickle, we are just across the street.” His eyes are sincere, and she thinks he might genuinely mean it. Which is a new occurrence in around these parts. Before she can reply, her neighbour has already left, and his front door is closing behind him. She still hasn’t met ‘ _his girl- Trixie’_ and she even more curious than before.


	2. You stopped and smiled at me.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “That’s a beautiful picture” Comes from behind Katya, and it startles her so much she involuntarily lets out a pathetic high-pitched squeal. It’s a women’s voice she hasn’t heard before, but she has a hunch. The woman is chuckling at Katya’s little shriek and Katya recognises, knows that laugh even at this volume. When she doesn’t turn around immediately -doesn’t dare to, the anticipation is built up too high from weeks of only seeing her with her back turned to Katya. The woman speaks again, “you look so happy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter two! 
> 
> Special thanks to my main bitch Floofster for reading and re-reading this. We've done our best with the spellcheck, but neither of us is a native English speaker so bear with me!
> 
> People are meeting other people in this chapter, how exciting!
> 
> Enjoy!

Martha-May and Linda from down the street have decided Katya needs to throw a party. Cocktails or maybe just a good old American BBQ. The weather is still not very desirable, but they had argued that Katya’s house was big enough to do it inside and everyone could bring food and drinks, so Katya doesn’t have to worry about it, just be a good hostess. It could be like one of those Potlucks they always organise for every changing season. The ones that Katya, until maybe a year and a half ago, had not been invited to until Pat had thrown a hissy fit. Only then had the invitations had started coming through. 

Martha-May had told her she’s been looking positively wretched as of late and she should stop being miserable for a second. She tried protesting, tried arguing that she’s still very much mourning her late husband and that surely throwing a party after a mere month of his passing was absolutely inappropriate behaviour. Linda had quipped that: _nonsense, there’s no time limit to how long one should mourn a loved one, but you should always take an opportunity to have cocktails with your friends and it should definitely be at yours!_

So she found herself preparing for this potluck, she still thinks it’s more of an excuse for them to snoop around now that his stuff has been put away. Maybe they aim to find proof that Katya is actually a Soviet spy, somehow involved in the cold war. She has heard them call her Red scare behind her back a few times. _Let them_ , she thinks. She’ll take the opportunity to share food and conversation with her neighbours and now that they don’t think she’s a Slavic witch anymore, they’ve proven themselves quite pleasant company. After a good few, that is…

This will be an equally good opportunity to invite the new neighbours and finally meet this Trixie. She’s spotted her a couple of times from behind her window and she’s been hearing stories about her too. If they are anything like the stories her nosy neighbours used to spread about her, she knows they’ll be wildly inaccurate, and she certainly counts on it too. They are however quite an odd-looking couple, at least from what she’s been able to see from the back of Trixie. They often seem to coordinate their clothes. Trixie seems to love everything pink and frilly and she’ll wear it all the time. Her husband sticks to the lime greens and the soft blues, but he seems to wear accessories that match the colour of Trixie’s dresses. Wednesdays are an exception, then he always seems to wear pink.

Trixie is always in high heels, making her as tall as her husband. They seem really in tune with each other. They’re always making each other laugh. Katya can hear it from her house when she has the window open. They have loud shrill laughs that would make the murder of crows that always sit on Pat’s house fly away in fright. Katya loves hearing it, it gives her a right giggle every time it comes thundering through her window. She feels drawn to it, want’s in on the jokes, wants to laugh with them and share the bond they have. She knows what it’s like to be an outcast and she thinks they would understand each other in that aspect.

Martha-May is talking about them now, something about it being a real shame, a waste of good childbearing hips or something along those lines and Katya scrunches her nose up at the comment. She wants to retort but she bites her tongue. Linda says she has seen them hanging around the ‘dodgy’ bars in central Boston and Katya doesn’t know what that’s supposed to mean. Instead of asking, she just replies that she has seen them in and out of the house with guitar cases and what looked like a cello, so they’re probably just musicians trying to get work in any old bar that’ll have them. Linda shrugs and says, “surely not those”.

Katya lets out an almost inaudible sigh, the gossipers don’t seem to notice it. She really doesn’t even like them that much; they are nice to her face at the moment and it is handy to have people around you who’ll help you out in a pinch, yet she really does not know how to talk to them about anything other than the hot neighbourhood rumours while sipping hot tea.

Maybe she should invite Violet to the party. Violet works at the library she goes to with Oksana to pick out stories for her to read at bedtime. She knows how to talk to her; Violet had taken one look at her upon entering the place and immediately pointed her in the direction of the feminist section tucked away in a corner. Then she had come and found Katya and had sat down on one of the chairs and had held colourful cardboard books out for Oksana to choose from, busying her, so Katya could have a sift through the paperbacks in peace. They had become fast friends but haven’t yet met up outside of the confines of the Boston Public Library. Now is as good a time as any, she thinks.

The day before the party, Katya is sitting at the breakfast bar, her beautiful cherub dancing in her lap. She is trying to pick Katya’s blonde locks out from the scarf she’s wearing in a weak attempt to tame her curls. She fancied herself like Audrey Hepburn this morning but in reality, she probably looks more like the peasant women she saw during her youth, roaming the barren fields. Oksana manages to pull out a handful of curls and yanks on them hard. When Katya lets out a squeal, she giggles in delight, her bright blue eyes alight and she does a sort of victory wiggle in Katya’s lap.

“Little troublemaker” Pat chuckles. She’s reheating them dinner, some sort of casserole. She’s been getting an awful lot of those lately. The people in the neighbourhood keep dropping them off, and then, when she’s finished them, she must scrub the burned sides of the glass dish and polish them shiny, wrestle Oksana into her stroller so she can walk around the cul-de-sac with a heavy bag of oven dishes she is to return to their rightful owners. Maybe it’s all a silent ploy to slowly poison the Russian bitch, finally rid their purebred American neighbourhood off her.

It has been nice, she supposes, not having to cook for a while but she thinks she can manage now. She’s grateful for the food, to have any at all, of course, but she also thinks the American cuisine is lacking flavour and she longs for her mamoshka’s borshch and pirozhki. She can cook it herself; she has had to cook from a young age, but her mama’s are ever the best. For a brief second, she wonders if she could teach Pat and if it would taste as good as her mama’s.

Some days she misses her so fiercely. On days like today, it doesn’t linger because, at the slightest hint of it, she plops the little angel on the polished floorboards and pads over to her American mama. Gives her a short but tight hug and huffs a coarse-sounding _Spasibo! Spasibo! Spasibo!_ In her ear. Pat always chuckles and rocks them side to side a little before letting go and turning around to busy herself. Katya can’t be sure, but she thinks the dish she’s preparing tastes just a tad saltier from the single tear that falls from Pat's eye.

Guests are starting to pool in, and Katya busies herself greeting everyone, thanking everyone for yet another casserole or pasta dish - _Yes, she’ll come bring them by with Ana in the stroller in the next few days._ Familiar laughter is ringing through her house somewhere although she isn’t sure where. Katya has seen Sam; she’s shaken his hand, but he was without a wife then. She is here somewhere, for sure.

There are kids running around in the backyard, pulling at the neatly arranged and trimmed shrubs, and she cringes for Pat’s hard work. Their laughter is infectious however and the steady low chatter coming from all corners of her house is lulling her into a sense of serenity. She feels at ease, surrounded by a warm wool blanket like the one her babushka used to knit her, the ones that would always smell a bit of sheep no matter how often you’d wash them. 

People are talking about _him_ ; she can feel it humming through her bones in a staticky buzz. She likes it though, he deserves it, they all really liked him, much more than they’ll ever like her. Even though they would never admit as much, not to her face.

Waves of black silky hair and mauve silk are enveloping her into a hug. She’s being surrounded by the strong smell of Peony and before she can fathom what’s happening, she’s being pulled into the empty hallway. Violet grins at her wide and excited, her dark eyes bright with a tinge of mischief. A small rectangular package is being pushed into her hands.

“This is for you, don’t open it here!” Katya huffs a little, doesn’t quite understand the connotation, and starts ripping at the brown paper anyways. Violet is shooting her a stern look and tells her to “put it with the rest of your collection…” Katya nods, eyes up the stairs and the doorway to the rest of the house, no one. Gives Violet a quick peck on the cheek - _Spasibo!_ And runs upstairs to unwrap her exciting new gift, wondering what kind of juicy feminist masterpiece she can add to the bookshelf.

Only it’s not. On the cover of the book, two women are stripping themselves out of their military uniforms while another, still fully clothed, watches them. Women’s Barracks, she reads, by Tereska Torrès. Her heart is thumping loud and painful in her chest and she has the sudden urge to sit down on the carpeted floor of the upstairs corridor. She is able to steady herself against the blue flowers that adorn the walls instead. _-This is not literature, this is pornography. Plain pornography. Featuring only women._

She hasn’t told Violet, she’s told her about her marriage, sure, but she’s never even pronounced the word out loud, any of them really. Never dared to. This is exciting though, this means she’s got another ally, a confidant. Wired fingers work the book under her mattress where no one will find it. Katya takes a couple of deep breaths and hurries down the stairs. Before re-entering the hustle and bustle that is now her living area, she takes another couple of breaths, to make sure the crimson is off her face. She likes monochrome but her skin cannot be as red as her outfit.

Her eyes focus on one of her favourite pictures of her and John. It was taken by one of the other doctors on V-day. They are sitting side by side on the roof of someone’s Vauxhall Cadet. It is parked in a street busy with celebrating people. They are both wearing their uniforms and Katya’s right arm is slung around John’s shoulders while the other one is throwing her nurses' cap high into the air. John has her by the waist, he’s pulling her forward a little so her back is arching towards him. He has his hand clasped around her right leg, holding it up so her knee is in line with her waist. It makes her dress bunch up a little and her pale thigh is showing from underneath. They look so happy. John is looking at her like she’s hung the moon for him, and Katya’s smile is so wide it makes her nose wrinkle and her eyes shut tight, head thrown back a little.

“That’s a beautiful picture” Comes from behind Katya, and it startles her so much she involuntarily lets out a pathetic high-pitched squeal. It’s a women’s voice she hasn’t heard before, but she has a hunch. The woman is chuckling at Katya’s little shriek and Katya recognises, knows that laugh even at this volume. When she doesn’t turn around immediately -doesn’t dare to, the anticipation is built up too high from weeks of only seeing her with her back turned to Katya. The woman speaks again, “you look so happy.”

“We were” Her voice falls flat as if she is unsure about it now. She turns slowly, preparing herself for what her new neighbour’s face might look like. She’s imagined it. Tried to picture it in her head. Most of the time Trixie turns towards her, she is faced with the lady from the magazine, which always shoots an agonizing tingle to her lower belly. Right now though, she’s really going to see Trixie’s face and she’s almost giddy with it, wants to giggle out loud like Oksana with the anxious anticipation of it all.

She blinks twice to let her eyes adjust to the change of light when she’s finally facing her, and she feels like her stomach has taken a dive. Her sore heart skips multiple beats and she thinks it might give her a heart murmur. Trixie is tall above her, radiant smile framed by plump pink lips. Her deep brown eyes are looking at Katya’s with the kind of warmth that she’s only ever seen in her mamochka’s. Trixie is astonishingly beautiful, way prettier than the bashful women she is hiding in her bookcase. Her round pulpy cheeks flushed and her golden waves in a half updo, tight in a bow and falling onto her collarbones. The rays of sunlight peeking from behind the door to the living room are giving Trixie a halo and for a second Katya thinks she might have died. Suddenly, strong hands are holding on to her to keep her upright. She hadn’t even realized she was stumbling backward in awe.

“You good?” Trixie narrows her eyes, scans Katya’s face. “You wanna go sit down for a minute? I’ll fix you a drink.”

“Thank you but I’m alright. We should get back in there. Oh and, Uhm, I’m Katya” Trixie lets out a pleased huff. “I know. I’m Trixie, but you know that already.” She says with a wink.

Katya does not know how to interpret this interaction and they stick their hands out at each other as a means to an official greeting. Katya wants to shake Trixie's soft hands, but Trixie is holding her hand, palm down, wrist bent as if she expects Katya to kiss her knuckles. It’s making Katya’s head hurt with confusion and she shakes Trixie’s hand awkwardly. Trixie lets out another one of those low giggles.

“Alright lead the way, lady of the house.” She does, leads them all the way into the kitchen where Violet has entranced her old co-workers in a story _-probably hyperbolic, she has a tendency._ She winks at Katya and she frowns. _What’s with all the winking today?_

Katya takes her right past them, through the glass doors into the garden where her mama is laughing at the silly things the kids are doing. “Mamosh” The chubby little angel comes running to Katya and clings to her leg. Katya picks her up and Oksana is ogling Trixie, already making grabby hands for her lush blonde waves. Trixie sticks a finger out for her to hold instead. “Aren’t you the most precious little thing?” Katya smiles wide. “Thank you, I made her.” She whispers in a conspiratorial purr.

Trixie lets out a cacophonous screech. “Yes, I can see that. She’s your mirror image.” She snickers, and then, “Very beautiful.” In a hushed tone.

Katya blushes something fierce and tries to hide her face against Oksana. “You two planning on having any soon?” For a brief moment, Katya thinks she might have said the wrong thing but then Trixie smiles wide.

“Oh, I’d love to be a mother!” She turns to look at her husband who’s talking to a couple of housewives in the kitchen.

Her smile makes place for something Katya can’t quite decipher. Almost like she’s reconsidering her answer.

“Maybe one day.” Trixie is smiling at her again, but her voice sounds off, flat.

Most of the guests had left around 6 pm to put the children to bed and get ready for the next day. Katya had found herself engrossed in conversation with the Mattel’s and Violet, who apparently know each other. Pearl, her old colleague had been at Violet’s side all evening.

Trixie and Violet had been having what seemed like an entire conversation just with their eyes. Sharing esoteric glances and cryptic facial expressions. It had made Katya feel hazy in a not entirely unpleasant way.

She’s laying on her back on the mattress now and she’s too wired to sleep. It had felt as though she was part of a resistance group tonight, like the one that had come to ask them for medical help at the field hospital. She likes it, it feels dangerous but with velutinous edges. They’re all a little beatnik and maybe in time, when they’ve known each other for a while, Katya could be her true self with them. It makes her hopeful, feel jovial. Blithe. Gay.

Oksana is querulous today and only lets Katya fuss her hair into braids from the settee. She’s been awful quiet for a while and Katya sees why when she looks up from working ribbons around the braids. She swiftly picks the muppet from between her knees and balances her on her hip, inching closer to the window. Katya lets something exuberant escape her lungs.

The Mattel’s are painting the outside of their condo. Not just any colour, no they are painting it pink. They must have heard whatever horrific excuse for a laugh Katya produced because they turn around and smile bright, motioning for her to come over. Once she’s nearing them, she can see the shade better, it’s a sort of peachy pink, not at all ugly but certainly stands out against the greys and reds of the houses surrounding them.

“Swanky colour you’ve picked out!”

Trixie's entire face lights up. She’s wearing what looks to be an old dress, but it really is as glamourous as all the others. There are a couple of paint splashes on it and the penny loafers on her feet are covered with it.

This is the first time that Katya has seen her in flats and they’re almost the same height. Suddenly little less intimidating, Katya could kiss her cheek without having to stand on her tippy toes if she wanted to. _If she wanted to._

“You like it?” Trixie beams.

Katya nods, she does. It’s not her colour but she likes that it’ll likely stir the whole neighbourhood into an uproar.

“Trix, isn’t it about time we take a break, maybe offer Katya a beverage?” Sam questions. “Oh yes, Uhm, of course. Come inside! Would you like something to drink? We made iced tea this morning, should be nice and chilled now.”

Her eyes are wide and she’s blushing a little.

Katya chuckles, iced tea does sound nice.

She follows Trixie inside a womb. The entire house is different saturations of pink and it’s so warm. Oksana tries to squirm her way out of her arms. She’s somewhere new and wants to explore. The place is filled with children’s toys and other knickknacks that have already caught her attention. Her mother is no longer priority. Once they’re in the kitchen, Sam gives her an encouraging look and holds his hand out for Oksana to take so he can show her around.

They leave Katya and Trixie alone in front of the fridge.

Katya realises they’re standing pretty close to each other and Trixie is reaching behind her to retrieve glasses for the tea. She can smell her shampoo and it’s giving her palpitations.

Eartha Kit is singing ‘Let’s do it’, somewhere in the background.

When Trixie hands her a glass, she gulps down almost half of it at once. The air is too thick to breathe in.

Trixie is still looking at her, she keeps opening and closing her mouth like she wants to say something but can’t quite find the words.

“Uhm… I was wondering…” She’s evidently still looking for them.

“Eh, I’ll be performing at this bar, singing, and playing my guitar… and Uhm, I was thinking maybe you’d like to come? It’s eh – at a bar for people like us.” She says tentatively.

Katya tilts her head- _people like us? “_ You mean like the place the feminist group that meets at?”

Trixie smiles. “Yeah sure, sorta. Anyways, it’s Saturday next month. Starts at 9 pm.”

“Yes, I’d love to come! I’ll have to figure something out for Oksana though, I can’t take her out that late.”

Trixie seems to deflate, whatever amount of air she was holding in has been released through a long sigh and she looks relieved. “Yeah no, of course. Sam could maybe look after her, they sure seem to be hitting it off.”

Katya looks over to the living room where he is showing the toddler all kinds of trinkets adorning various surfaces. She looks at him with inquisitive eyes and clings to his big hand with both of hers.

Katya giggles.

“I’ll ask my mama, if I let her stay an entire night, she’ll never want to come home. Look at her, she’s smitten.” 

“She’s not the only one.” Trixie says almost inaudibly.

Sam gives them a tour of the condo. The only room that isn’t pink is the guest room. It has a busy geometric pattern in a bright yellow. The room looks as though someone is sleeping here often. Bedsheets undone, personal belongings on the side table.

In their garage – yes, also pink – there’s a little workshop setup. Sam tells Katya how he makes children’s toys with his friend Elliot. Mostly wooden things, for now, they sell them at the market and to toy stores. They’re looking to expand soon and get working with some other materials.

There are drawings of dolls all over the wall.

“This is my newest invention.” Sam chirps.

He takes one of the drawings off the wall and holds it out for Katya.

Depicted, is a long-legged blonde woman. She has round breasts, a slim waist, wide hips, and thick thighs. She’s wearing a dress Katya’s pretty sure she’s seen Trixie in.

She points a long finger a Trixie who’s carrying Oksana.

“Barbara, that’s you!”

Sam laughs. “Yeah, Trixie is my muse. She looks like a living doll, thought I might as well make one after her.”

“She’s beautiful!” Katya exclaims.

She is. If this toy ever becomes reality, every child will want to have one. She’s sure.

Trixie just blushes, looks down at her feet.

They’ve moved to the living room to enjoy another glass of iced tea. Sam is sitting in a cream leather armchair and he’s laughing at Oksana who’s rolling around on the fluffy carpet. One of her braids has come undone from the exercise. Trixie seems to enjoy it just as much as her man. She has sat down next to Katya on the sofa, their knees are almost touching.

They’re in the middle of a conversation about interior design because Katya has expressed the want for change. The house she lives in belonged to John’s parents and hasn’t been redecorated since the early ’30s and honestly, the situation is dire. They had done up the kitchen and the nursery, but the rest still has that old, out-of-style flowery wallpaper and Katya needs change. Now that she’s alone she could really get to town with her eclectic style too.

Trixie and Sam have offered to help her because Katya has no idea how to put wallpaper up and from what she’s heard so far it sounds like an arduous task to do by oneself.

They are discussing logistics when Katya feels something stir in her stomach. At first, she thinks it might just be hunger, however, it’s not late enough for lunch. She has been feeling off for a while now. It feels familiar yet she can’t quite place it.

The feeling moves up her chest a little bit, makes her eyes widen.

_Oh no._

She tries to brace herself, swallow the feeling, her fingers grip the leather of the sofa. It makes a squeaky sound.

“Are you feeling okay? You look really pale.” Trixie looks concerned.

“I need to use your bathroom please.” She’s already standing up, ready to bolt.

Trixie stands up too and points her in the right direction with a manicured fingernail. Katya darts towards it barely has time to slam the door shut before she’s on her knees, hunched over the toilet bowl.

After a minute there is nothing left in her stomach, yet the heaving isn’t letting up. There is a tentative knock on the door and Trixie sticks her head from behind it. “Katya?” Her voice is small.

“Can I help you?”

Katya groans, gives her a small nod.

Trixie helps her sit up and gives her a clean washcloth to wipe her face with and then some mouthwash for the awful taste. They’re sitting side by side on the edge of the tub, Trixie rubbing slow circles on her back, waiting for her to start speaking.

“Was it my iced tea?” she asks in a soft voice.

She’s smiling and Katya gives her a grin.

“Breakfast must’ve sat wrong, or maybe the milk was off. Your iced tea was lovely!”

There’s a glint in Trixie’s eyes again and stands up, holding her hands out for Katya to take. “C’mon, I’ll take you home, you should probably lie down for a bit, you still look really pale.”

“No need to make pesky comments about my Slavic complexion Mrs. Mattel.”

That earns her a loud laugh.

They walk back to Katya’s. Trixie steadying her with an arm looped through hers and Sam is balancing Oksana on his shoulders. She’s having the time of her life.

When they reach the front door. Pat steps out of her house, looks at the commotion.

“Morning Ms. McCook, we're just taking Katya in, she’s been poorly.”

Pat springs in action, unlocks Katya’s door and ushers them inside. They take her straight to her bedroom and Pat tells her she’ll take Ana home with her so Katya can get some actual shut-eye. Suddenly, she does feel really exhausted and she falls asleep as soon as her face hits the pillow.

Whatever illness she’s managed to contract, it’s lasting. She’s been vomiting every morning for the past week and is utterly tiring. The Headaches are persistent and her whole body feels sore. Her lack of energy has been difficult, and she can tell Oksana is feeling it too. She’s been irascible for the past couple of days. The little one doesn’t seem to get ill though so whatever Katya has got probably isn’t contagious.

Pat has sent her off to the doctors for some bloodwork and she should be getting the results over the phone on Monday. Whatever news they have for her can wait. She doesn’t have time to worry about it tonight because it’s Saturday, and Trixie is coming to pick her up in an hour to go meet the ‘women like them’. She’s still unsure what Trixie meant by that, but she’ll find out soon enough. She’s been excited all week; it’s been her silver lining on the horizon while she’s had her head down the toilet.

She has put her makeup on already. Never really bothers to do more than her usual eyeliners and mascara, red lipstick for special occasions. She has taken the time to put her hair in rollers, which she never does. It’s curly by itself, not neat but she’s too damn lazy to roll her hair every night and the rollers are uncomfortable to sleep in.

Tonight however, she wants to make an effort.

She puts on a nice blouse with a lace collar, she wears her favourite black cardigan over it. It has a knitted pattern and it’s really soft. The red and black plaid slacks she pairs with it were a bit loose on her a couple of months ago, but she seems to be filling them out properly again and she’s quite content with it. Her strappy ghillies really complete the look.

When she’s fastening a red silk scarf in her styled curls, her doorbell rings. She hears Pat walking towards it and hears Trixie’s warm voice.

She rushes down the stairs to greet her but her voice halts in her throat when she sees her.

Trixie’s dress is a periwinkle blue with a sweetheart neckline that is barely able to contain her tan breasts. The garment clings to her slim waist and then billows out to just below her knees. She’s wearing pumps in the same shade as the dress and there’s a soft-looking cream cardigan draped over her shoulders, empty sleeves hanging over her bare arms. 

She beams when she sees Katya descend the stairs.

“Hi, you look lovely!”

Pat scurries away to the kitchen.

“So do you.”

Katya stumbles on the last steps, is able to keep herself from falling by gripping the coat rack on the wall.

Trixie laughs at her misfortune.

Katya huffs a fake indignancy. “That was intentional!” She says, accusing finger directed to the naughty step.

The entire car ride is zippy, the atmosphere filled with some sort of electric charge. Every time she finds herself alone with Trixie she feels as though she is being swallowed by the snow shown on the television screen in between programs. It’s thick and heavy although not entirely bothersome.

Trixie must be nervous about her performance because she’s making even more silly jokes than normal. And Katya is more than happy to laugh at them, just to see her face alight.

When Trixie finally parks her car they’re no longer in Boston. It took them about an hour drive to get here and it must be well worth it judging by the excitement on Trixie’s face. She loops her arm around Katya’s and leads them towards a building that’s seen better days.

Katya can already hear the music coming from inside and a couple of dolled-up people come bouncing out the door giggling like a bunch of Catholic schoolgirls who’ve just seen a men’s undergarments add.

Once inside, Katya barely has time to look around. Trixie is pulling her by the arm towards a group of women sitting at a round table near the corner.

Then it’s a flurry of introductions: Ginger helps her brother at his car shop; Kim is an Avon representative; Sasha tells her she’s a writer, she’s working with a new organisation called One, Inc. She’s from the USSR too and she swiftly starts ranting about politics in Russian; Shea and Bob are setting up a place where women can come to escape their abusive families or spouses. Violet is here as well and she has a drunk-looking Pearl draped across her lap, she’s playing with her hair, coiling her fingers in and out of Pearl's ringlets.

Time has come for Trixie to get on stage and Katya takes the opportunity to take a good look around the place. There are all kinds of people here. Some of the men are dressed like women and some of the women are dressed like men.

Behind the bar she spots a muscly-looking girl who’s wearing a vest, her bare arms are covered in tattoos. Katya wonders if she could get away with that.

She’s zoning out of the conversation a little bit and suddenly Ginger is waving a hand in front of her face.

“Hello, earth to Katie.”

“Katya!” She says too fast, too defensive. She can’t stand being Americanised. “My name is Katya, not Katie.” In the corner of her eye, she sees Sasha wince, probably all too familiar with these kinds of exchanges.

“Sorry _, Kateeyaah_.” She drawls in a southern twang. Sasha pulls another face.

“So are you like?” Ginger motions vaguely with a limp wrist, as though she’s trying to show Katya her new freshly done manicure. Then cocks her head to the side, her eyes calculating.

Katya isn’t sure what she’s asking.

“A Slavic witch? Yes absolutely, my mama raised me well, thank you.”

The others start barking rumbunctious laughter.

Trixie was right when she assured Katya she would hit it off with her friends. They have a lot in common, they all want to work, want to do more in this world than bust out babies and be obedient housewives. There’s a strong sense of community between them.

It’s getting late now. Trixie has performed her songs and had gotten a standing ovation. Katya being the first one to praise her when she’d returned to their table. Pink had flushed all the way from the point of her nose to the top of her ears and Katya thinks it’s the most beautiful thing she’s ever seen.

They’re all pushed together in the middle of the room; the music has changed and everyone is dancing. Trixie is swirling around, hands in hers and Katya can’t recall the last time she’s felt this free and happy.

The moon is high and bright when she drives home, her body is still reverberating the music and her blood feels thick and sweet like honey.

Trixie, on the other hand, is exhausted and has fallen asleep against the car window. They reach their street, parks the Cadillac on Trixie’s driveway, and helps her to her door.

She’s already turning around when Trixie cups one of her cheeks with her hand and kisses the other.

“Thank you for coming tonight.” She says. And then she’s disappearing inside.

In her bathroom, Katya takes the greatest care to rub her cold cream around the lipstick print Trixie has left on her cheek. She wants to keep it there, at least for tonight – tells herself it’s because of the way her skin is tingling there, mustn’t fuss with it anymore or the skin will inflame.

That night, her dreams are pink and smell of peaches.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well then,  
> I hope you liked that!   
> Your comments are the scout girl cookies to my Trixie!
> 
> If you want to get in a real 50s groove, you can listen to this: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6ttDVv8hvjK6XPpgATLGBB?si=QriCKetARY24yZybi3OYAg


	3. Put your head on my shoulder, hold me in your arms.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oksana shrills, stepping closer to investigate the murder scene. “Silly Trissie!” She giggles.
> 
> “It’s so cold and wet. And I haaaate red.” Trixie cries.
> 
> All Katya can do is laugh harder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, hello friends, it's me again!  
> To those who read, thank you. thank you. thank you.  
> Thank you for reading, thank you for the kudos, thank you for the comments. To the person who bookmarked this: Oh my god! Wow. Thank you!
> 
> You are too kind to me!
> 
> Enjoy!

Trixie is over at hers so often now it’s like they’re attached at the hip. She leaves of course to go home to Sam and to go to work but she spends all her free time with Katya and Oksana.

They’re going to Violet’s feminist meetings together, to the grocers, knit little baby clothes together to donate to Bob and Shea’s shelter. Katya has completely integrated into Trixie’s friend group; she’s been helping them with their respective projects and in turn, they are taking her and Oksana out on little adventures around the city.

Everyone is completely enamoured with her angel; most of all Trixie. She takes extra care to praise the little one when she does something good. Trixie reads to her, tries to teach her new words, even involves her in her baking projects when she can. And every time Katya watches them together, her heart grows feathers, flaps about in the confines of her ribcage.

Trixie seems to have grown bolder in her interactions with Katya too. Where she was all soft and shy in the first couple of weeks of their friendship, she now is audacious. All sly smirks and mischievous eyes. She’s been laughing harder and harder at Katya’s dumb jokes too. And Katya is more than happy to give them to her, hold out the bait so she bats the ball back over the fence and caw at her own joke even louder.

Katya loves all of it.

They’re over at each other’s houses so often now that Trixie had gone to the Bought & Sold to get a highchair for Oksana, she’s sitting in it in Trixie’s kitchen, rolling one of Sam’s newest toy cars back and forth over its wooden tabletop.

A couple of days prior she had invited Sam and Trixie to dinner at hers. Pat had helped her cook Golubtsy. The cabbage rolls filled with meat and rice had always been her sister's favourite and they used to make them often back in Russia. She remembers the recipe well and this time she alters some so they’re less spicy. She’s not sure what the Americans can handle, she knows Pat's threshold (not very high) and she knows Oksana will eat anything spicy without problem. Katya is pleased with that; she wants her daughter to grow up knowing and tasting her heritage, although the other day Pat made some kind of dish with elbow macaroni and a cheesy sauce and her little angel ate that by the fistful, and so did Katya if she’s honest.

They had all sat at the dining table like real adults who have their lives together and they had talked about all the ways they don’t have their lives together. Trixie had talked about her childhood, about how she grew up really poor and has never known her real dad, and about how when she was eight years old, her mother had found herself a rich husband and they had moved to Boston. There had been money for Trixie to take music and singing lessons and her stepdad had bought her various instruments and he had paid for new clothes and new shoes and he had put money away for her to go to school if she wished to. He had been a godsend to her and her mother but he had never managed to get along with Trixie’s older brothers even though he had tried his darndest.

Both of her brothers had been sent off to fight in Japan but only one had returned and unluckily for Trixie, it had been the brother she had never really gotten along with; she had joked although it had been clear as day there was more than a kernel of truth in her statement. She had clarified that she had met Sam on the playground down the street and it had turned they only lived a couple of houses away from each other. They had gotten along well and had become friends quickly, to her mother and step-fathers joy. Her brother had never liked him, had called him a variety of unsavoury words from the very start when they had only been little and Trixie hadn’t known what any of them meant yet, nor that they applied to her too.

Sam and Trixie had found out each other’s truth fast enough once they had both gotten to the age, they were told they should be fancying the other. People around them had always joked that they were the perfect pair and that they’d have the perfect marriage if such a thing ever became legal for them, as a mixed-race couple. They had heard it so often that they had decided to make a pact, they’d just pretend to be together for the sake of their families and their own safety.

Trixie’s mother had passed a couple of years after Trixie’s 18th birthday from tuberculosis and when her step-father had died from a heart attack she had inherited his entire fortune. They had packed everything they owned, Trixie had gone to the salon to the salon to get her dark brown locks transformed into blonde, and with her stepdad's last name she seemed white enough for them to move in together and pretend to have a relationship. They had known it wouldn’t be easy but they thought it better than being alone.

Originally the plan was to get to California where the laws were a bit looser and the segregation a bit milder but then Sam had met Elliot at a woodworking workshop and had fallen hard and fast. Elliot had no plans of moving anywhere else so Sam had begged and begged Trixie if they could please stay. They had eventually managed to get a deal on a house after a long time of looking and trying. Most realtors wouldn’t even rent to a mixed couple et alone sell to them. Only after they had disclosed the amount of money Trixie had in her bank account and maybe a couple of visits to the man's office to which Trixie wore a particularly low cut dress, had he caved and drawn up a contract for them. Sam had taken Trixie’s name even though they weren’t legally married, it was just easier that way.

“So we refer to each other as though we’re married most of the time but really, we’re just very good friends and I’ve in a relationship with Elliot for about a year and a half now. And Trixie, well Trixie is very much available to be romanced!” Sam had joked while elbowing a very red-faced Trixie in her side and winking at Katya. Pat had chuckled at the entire exchange and said she was very happy that Sam and Trixie had found a house in this neighbourhood, that they were very welcome and that their secret was safe with her. “I’ve thought about kissing a girl once when I was young, but I was about to be married to my husband whom I fancied very much so I never acted on it.” She had said nonchalantly. Katya had breathed a little sigh of relief at her statement.

At the end of the night, when Pat had gone home to rest, Trixie, Sam and Katya had concocted a plan to surprise Pat for her Birthday a couple of days later. To thank her for being a genuine, good and loving person.

It’s a slightly sunnier morning than they’ve gotten used to lately and Katya has been at Trixie and Sam’s for a couple of hours already. Getting presents ready and wrapped, fashioning bunting from coloured paper, with Oksana’s help of course. She’s positively covered in glitter and glue and something a little smellier that Katya needs to take care of in the bathroom. Trixie has put a pack of emergency diapers in her bedroom for Katya to use when she’d need them. She’s been trying to get Oksana to use the potty but since John’s death, it has been very difficult to get Oksana to cooperate.

She excuses herself and takes her toddler upstairs to get washed and changed. She could very well cross the road and go home to do this but Trixie is making it very easy for her to stay. Once they’re in Trixie’s bedroom she sits Oksana on the floor, tells her to stay put and starts rummaging through the drawers of her vanity. Trixie mentioned having put the diapers somewhere there but instead, when she opens the first one on the right, she finds a cardboard box that advertises some kind of machine that’s supposed to stimulate blood flow and relax tight muscles.

Katya has read about these machines before, mostly advertised as a simple beauty apparatus and to be used to massage sore body parts, more often used to massage something else. It certainly would stimulate blood flow; Katya knows that much. She smiles at her own thoughts and tries not to think to hard about Trixie using it for any other purpose than alleviate the pain in her sore shoulders.

She eventually does find the diapers and quickly cleans up the child and hurries downstairs where Trixie is waiting for her in the kitchen to start making the birthday cake.

“I think this batter is done, maybe you can start on the whipped cream while I pour this into the mould?” Trixie says over her shoulder.

“Oh sure. Do you have an electric mixer here or do I need to tape the whisk to that _muscle massager_ you keep in your bedroom?” She jests, she can’t quite believe that actually just left her mouth. She’s such a blabbermouth.

“Wha- No, no! That’s not. Wait how did you even? That _is_ actually for sore muscles, and – like, for circulation…” Trixie trails off. She’s turned a bright scarlet, eyes cast down.

“Oh sure yeah, for sore muscles.” Katya shoots her a wink. She might as well lie in the grave now she’s dug it.

“And I wasn’t trying to snoop, just so you know. I was changing Xana’s diaper and was looking for the diapers and your cold cream, just opened the wrong drawer, sorry.”

“Yeah no, of course. But it isn’t. I don’t- You know. It’s not for _that_.” Trixie has turned into a fawn trying to clamber upright on the slippery tiles. Gangly and unbalanced under the weight of her embarrassment.

Maybe she’s gone too far this time. Trixie is only 23 and she’s probably not used to those kinds of jokes. Trixie will think she’s a pervert now.

“Tracy I’m only joking. Besides, we’re both modern women, aren’t we? I wouldn’t like, _shame_ you, ever!” Katya says with a lacklustre hand gesture.

“Well, _I_ am. Give it six months and you are entering grandmother territory, honey.” Trixie deadpans.

She bends down at the waist to retrieve the mixer from one of the cabinets and hands it over. Quandary far behind her.

The cake has cooled, and the cream is set so they can start on the decorations. Oksana is in her highchair, silently and contently licking freshly whipped cream off a spoon. The decorations are the part Katya wanted Trixie’s help with most. This is what Trixie is good at. And she looks like a real good housewife in her circle skirt and her pink apron tied around her waist with a bow right above the curve of her ass, not that Katya’s looking, of course. Katya’s meant to be helping her, but she can only focus on Trixie’s hands, artfully piping cream onto the cake.

She kind of feels like a little kid again, waiting to be handed a utensil so she can lick it clean.

Mischief grows in her abdomen.

Trixie’s telling her something about goldfish brain and she looks at Katya, amused.

And Katya can’t help herself, friskiness prickling her scalp.

Her arm reaches over to the cake on autopilot and she scoops her finger through a freshly piped rosette.

For a split second, Trixie’s mouth falls open in indignation.

Just as quickly something changes in her expression and before Katya can pull her arm back, she latches on to her wrist. Trixie stares her square in the face as she parts her lips and slides Katya’s cream-coated finger into her mouth. She moans around it. _The audacity._

It’s so warm and wet and it tingles all the way down to her extremities.

Her ears are so hot they must be smoking.

There’s a loud clatter behind them and Trixie has already surged forward. Oksana has dropped her Sippy-cup and there is lemonade all over the floor and her little body. Her lower lip is quivering, a sign she’s about to start wailing. Trixie has started mopping up what she can with kitchen rag and Katya wants to help but it takes a minute for her legs to start up again.

“Oh fu- fudge! She’s all soaked Katya. You should take her home, she’ll need a bath, I think. I’ll finish up here.” Trixie says without sparing her a glance.

Katya clears her throat. The first tears hit Oksana’s round cheeks.

“Oh yeah, sure. Ehm. I’ll see you later I guess.”

She picks her child up from the chair and without looking back, she walks out of the house.

Oksana is still crying into her neck as they enter Katya’s house.

“Trissie mad?” she brays.

“No milaya, Trixie isn’t mad.” Katya tells her.

“Mama mad?” She asks, slightly less distressed.

“No darling, mama’s not mad.” She consoles the child.

“Dada mad?” That one breaks Katya’s heart. All she can do is shake her head at the crying toddler, give her a quick peck on the forehead and stuff her own face in the little angel's blonde curls as to not show her own tears.

Oksana doesn’t seem to believe her as she cries even harder, tiny fists clenching around the collar of Katya’s blouse. Snotty nose pressed in her hair.

She sobs all the way through her bath, and it takes Katya two full hours to calm her down enough so she can feed her some dinner. The little cherub eats approximately three bites before she falls asleep in Katya’s arms. Katya’s not hungry either. She climbs into bed fully clothed, her baby squeezed in her arms.

She lays awake most of the night, staring at the ceiling.

The next day she goes over to the Mattel’s residence. Katya feels like she has to apologise for running out of there the day before. It’ll be good for Oksana anyways, she tells herself, the little girl was so upset yesterday.

Sam’s on his way out and he holds the door open for her. Gestures to where Trixie can be found inside. He kisses her on the cheek, Oksana on the head and pushes past her.

Trixie is upstairs in her bedroom, searching for something under the bed, elbows bracing her against the floor, ass up in the air. _God, this woman and her figure._

She sits up when she hears Oksana’s babbling.

Upon being set down on the floor, Oksana sprints to Trixie as fast as her little legs can carry her, falls into her arms, plasters her in sticky kisses. Trixie hugs her tight and sways them left to right.

“Hey.” Katya says, sitting down beside her on the floor. “Sorry for sprinting out of here yesterday.”

“No worries.” Is the only answer she gets.

Trixie’s expression is soft, and she leans forward, opening her arms for Katya. They sit there for a moment, basking in their hug, arms wrapped around each other, small child squeezed in the middle.

“Hey, I was looking for some old clothes to donate to Bob and Shea and I think they’re in that box, but I can’t get it out from under there” Trixie gestures under the bed as they untangle. She’s still hugging the toddler.

“Okay, let me try.”

The box is utterly stuck against one of the floorboards, won’t budge and she’s pulling at it hard.

A bit of cardboard tears off abruptly and sends Katya flying backward. Soft spine hitting hard wood. She screeches, pain and laughter erupting in her chest. Trixie bows over her, her eyes concerned but her mouth mocking.

“Y’allright there grandma?” she chirps.

“You are truly terrible. No one ever taught you to help your elders, miss Martel?” Katya coughs out. “it’s your duty as a good Christian lady.”

Trixie throws her head back and caws. “I’m a lady alright, but whoever told you I’m a good Christian has been lying to you, Katie.” She gets up from her seat and bends down at the waist, one hand on her knee, the other outstretched for Katya to grasp.

The rug slips under her foot when she tries to hoist Katya up and throws her off-kilter. Gravity forcing her half on top of Katya.

Her knee lands in between Katya’s, her hair falling over Katya’s face, blanketing them from the rest of the room.

“Are you okay?” The words stick to Katya’s tongue.

She’s finding it hard to breathe with Trixie’s hair in her face and her eyes so enormous and their noses practically touching. She needs to get up, catch her breath, get her heartbeat under control before it breaks free from the constrict of her ribcage. She wraps her hands around Trixie’s waist and rolls her over so she’s lying next to her.

Trixie makes a strangled sound.

“I’m sorry, did I hurt you?”

“No, no. I’m good.” Trixie pants. “You’re pretty soft for such a scaly demon.”

Katya tries to laugh but it comes out more like a hiss. Her lizard brain is stuck on the feeling of Trixie against her body – her coldblooded body is overheating from it; her skin feels too loose around her muscles. She has to shed a layer.

“What are you doing?” Trixie looks at her, mouth ajar.

“I’m just taking off my jumper Trix, I’m sweating from all that physical exertion.” She lies through her teeth.

“Oh swell. You ain’t wearing anything under it though.” Trixie’s voice sounds muffled, she’s put her face in her hands. Shielding her eyes from Katya’s reptilian skin.

 _Fuck._ She had forgotten she hadn’t put on a bra this morning.

Her breasts are small enough that she likes to forgo the garment whenever she can. And she wasn’t gonna go anywhere but here today so she just – just stupidly forgot and now she’s flashed poor Trixie with her pasty, veiny chest. Probably scarring the pure thing for life.

How does she keep fucking up like this?

“Oh jeez, I’m so sorry, I thought I had a shirt on under this – Christ, I’m so sorry!” Katya’s still panicking.

Luckily, her daughter comes to her rescue. She’s lifting up her little sweater, showing off her flat chest. Giggling proudly.

Trixie pokes her in the belly button and the little one squirms to get away, sweater stuck over her head and she bumps against the bed, stumbles to the floor.

Trixie cackles. _Calamity averted._

Over the next couple of days, something in Katya grows uneasy, something arachnid that unfurls its long spindly legs in her chest cavity. It bounces through her, causes her fingers to twitch and her skin to crawl.

The symptoms have been getting stronger; she has strong cravings, specifically for anything that Trixie bakes her; she’s restless but so, so tired; her sense of smell is heightened, and it makes potty training Oksana an absolute nightmare; she’s starting to look swollen, has to keep joking that she’s just bloated from all the pastries Trixie keeps feeding her; not to speak of her boobs, they’ve gone up a size and she knows Trixie has notices, she’s seen her eyeing them suspiciously. She’ll have to tell her soon – though Trixie has probably already figured out by now.

After Katya got the call back from her doctor, she had to have a little cry on Pat’s shoulder. It hadn’t sunk in for a while and then it hit her all at once, like a brick dropped from great height, right in the gut.

Of course she knows, she had known something was up. Off-balance. As though all the molecules in her body had changed size, throwing off the osmotic pressure – making her unstable, unharmonized.

And she’s not dumb, she’s just had a lot on her mind lately and so she’s maybe not really been paying attention. Had just blamed it all on stress, on lack of sleep, on her restless heart. You could argue that the lack of menstruation should have really been a sign, but hey – She’s used to not getting her period for stretches of time.

When her mother died, she was only 16 and her period had ceased and had only come back well after her 17th birthday. The second time it happened was when they bombed the village nearest the hospital she was working at, bits of shrapnel flying through the canvas of the hospital ‘walls’. So she really didn’t think that much of it, she’s been through a lot of stress and change of late, so it made perfect sense really.

Now, of course, she can see how it was all foreboding. Prognoses yet to be determined – though if it’s anything like the last, in a little over six months she’ll be sitting in a bed, exhausted to the bone, holding a pink, wrinkly infant.

She’s not entirely revolted by the idea of it. It would be nice for Oksana to have a sibling, something that requits the loss of one life with another. That’s kind of stupid but she likes that at least one of his aspirations gets to come even if he won’t know – _Or maybe he can, who knows, she’s not about to go into that whole spiritual mess._

The problem she has with her _predicament_ is that she has to do it alone. She’s not alone perse, she has Pat and Trixie; Sam even, and all the friends she now shared with Trixie. Yet she’s still doing it alone.

It scares her.

It scares her even more that she has to tell Trixie, for whatever reason.

As though Trixie would ever react badly, would ever abandon her. In fact, she’s pretty sure Trixie would be absolutely delighted. She’s positive that if she’d say she doesn’t want it, Trixie will happily accept it, claiming it for herself.

That’s not something she’d do though; she’s going to take care of this baby with the same amount of love she has for her first one. She will just have to sign off on some of the things she wanted for her own future so she can give her children a good one.

She’ll have to work up the courage to tell her soon because they’re going to buy paint and wallpaper next week to redecorate the house and Katya needs to convert the spare room into a nursery. And even if she wasn’t, soon enough she’ll really start to show and then there’s just no hiding it anymore.

She wants to tell Violet, ask her for advice, ask her if she knows why she’s so nervous to tell Trixie, but something tells her she doesn’t want to know Violet’s answer and she thinks Trixie probably wouldn’t take it very kindly if she ever found out she had told Violet before her.

Pat always provides the support Katya needs in the moments Katya thinks she might sink. When she feels like her legs are stuck in quicksand and the more, she tries to get herself out, the more she digs herself in deeper, unable to escape the ever enclosing walls of sandy despair. Pat always knows what to say and when to say nothing at all and let Katya figure things out for herself.

They were sitting on Pat’s sofa, on the rare occurrence where they were at her house instead of Katya’s, and in place of an “I told you so.” or a “You could’ve, should’ve known.” Like she would have gotten from her aunt or sister, Pat let her know she can count on her. Ever supportive, ever maternal. And god, was this woman a godsent, her very own fairy godmother. How she had ever come to deserve such a wonderful person in her life, Katya truly didn’t know.

It’s Wednesday afternoon when Trixie comes around to help Katya paint her bedroom. She’s setting up the guest room so she can sleep there while the walls in her room are drying and she’s left Trixie there to put old newspapers on the floor. They had moved all the furniture to the side they’ll put wallpaper on.

“Ana _pomoshch_?” Her toddler asks. She’s too young to differentiate the English and Russian words that she’s being taught. “Mamaaaaa!” she exclaims. Oksana is trying to be helpful, which means she’s put a pillowcase around her shoulders like a cape and she’s jumping on the bed. Katya is too distracted to really take in the theatre, she is working up the courage to tell Trixie about the lime-sized foetus in her womb.

There’s a loud shriek from the other room. Katya makes for the doorway, hurrying to the noise; ankle-biter in tow, waddling behind her. When they enter the room Katya folds in half, wheezing. Trixie has her eyebrows in circumflex, the corners of her mouth turned down. She wails. Raises her foot in their direction. It’s dripping in red paint. “I stepped in the bucket.” Oksana shrills, stepping closer to investigate the murder scene. “Silly Trissie!” She giggles.

“It’s so cold and wet. And I _haaaate_ red.” Trixie cries.

All Katya can do is laugh harder. “Okay, okay. We’ll wrap it in newspaper, get you to the bathroom. Good thing you took your shoes off, I guess. Though I don’t think we can save that stocking.”

She’s trying to be helpful, the sight of her is far too hilarious.

Trixie just whines louder, still balancing on one foot.

“Let me get the little rascal out of the way before she makes an even bigger mess, and I’ll come help you, you big baby.” Katya chuckles. “Stay there, Barbara!”

She holds a finger up to Trixie, scooping up her child and leaving the room.

“Where the hell would I even go like this, _Katherine_?”

In the bathroom, she gets Trixie to balance on the side of the tub, painted leg near the faucet, the other outside for stability.

“Right, let me help you with your nylon, you hold on to the sink. Don’t need my tub crimson too, pretty sure that shit stains, Mary” She says.

“Well, be quick about it, before it permanently stains my leg, you witch.” Trixie retorts.

Katya locks their eyes for a second, waits for permission, before moving her skirt up her thigh a little. She tries to keep her hands as steady as she can while unclasping the garter, releasing the sock. She can’t look Trixie in the face now, she has to focus on her hands, so she doesn’t say something stupid. It’s so still in the bathroom suddenly, even the birds outside seem to have lost their voice. Slowly she slides the stocking down Trixie’s thigh, blunt fingernails softly scraping over skin in its wake.

Trixie lifts her foot so Katya can peel the nylon off her paint-covered skin. It’s a task not to splatter red all over the tub. When it’s off, she moves to open the tab and throw the sock in the bin. Trixie’s skin is covered in goosebumps. She looks uncomfortable, her brow creased.

“Are you cold?” Trixie shakes her head.

“Nah I’m good, get on with it grandma.” She breathes.

Katya takes her by the ankle and guides her under the stream. Trixie is wiggling her toes under the warming water while she scrubs at her skin.

“You’ll tell me if I’m being too rough, right?” She asks, she’s feeling extra soft towards Trixie – _Probably all the hormones._

“It’s perfect.” Trixie almost whispers.

Once her leg is clean, Katya wraps it up in a towel. She carefully rubs the skin dry through it, as she does with her baby. She doesn’t want to irritate Trixie’s delicate skin by rubbing the towel directly over it. She helps Trixie move her leg over the edge of the tub. Places a prudent kiss on her knee.

“There should be some long stockings in the dresser in my bedroom. I’m gonna go check on the child and make us some tea.”

Trixie doesn’t answer. Just clears her throat.

It must take her a moment before she finds the right drawer because she doesn’t come out for a while and she looks a bit flustered when she does. Katya doesn’t question it. Tries to go about business as usual. They finish painting the room, but the incident must have shaken Trixie up pretty badly because she’s uncharacteristically quiet the rest of the day.

Katya decides now isn’t the right time to let her in on her little secret.

Sam has arranged a van for her through Ginger, so they could load up some of her old furniture and bring it to Bob and Shea or to the Bought & Sold. He is sitting in the passenger’s seat with Oksana in his lap, holding her tight. The continuous movements of the vehicle have lulled her to sleep and she’s resting her chubby cheek on his arm. It’s not ideal to take her on this trip but Pat had an appointment and Trixie is booked to play at some party.

The rocking of the van isn’t helping with the morning sickness and she is starting to feel increasingly queasy. However much she tries to focus on the road, it’s to no avail and she thinks she might have to stop on the shoulder soon if she doesn’t want to regurgitate her breakfast all over herself.

“Are you okay, Katya? You look like a ghost.” Sam places his free hand on her shoulder.

She wants to counter with a joke – _I know I’m older than you but I’m not that old…_ Though the words get stuck behind the lump that’s moving up from her stomach. She has to park somewhere _now_. With a swerve and a screech, the van comes to a halt at the side of the road. Thankfully, it’s late enough that most people are already at work and there aren’t many people on the road anymore. She jumps out before Sam can ask her what’s going on and has to hold the door of the vehicle to stabilize herself as the ground welcomes this morning’s oatmeal. It takes her a couple of minutes before she can stand up and crawl back into her spot behind the wheel.

“Oh mama!” Sam looks at her like she just dropped dead and got right back up again. “Do we need to turn back around?”

“No, I’m good.” She braces herself for a second, both hands on the steering wheel, as a second wave of nausea hits her. “I just need a minute, and a mint.”

“Gotcha!” He says as he fetches a small tin from the glovebox.

“That been happening a lot lately, hunh?” He eyes her suspiciously as she accepts the mint and pops it in her mouth.

Katya can see the cogs turning, slowly clicking into place. “Yes.” She answers cautiously.

“Have you told Trixie?”

“Not yet.” She sighs, “Had planned to do it a couple of days ago but she stepped into some paint and then she just seemed to be in a bad mood for the rest of the day.”

Sam tries to swallow a laugh but it’s unsuccessful; instead, he wheezes silently, holding as still as he possibly can so he doesn’t wake the sleeping child on his lap. “Yeah, she told me all about that incident. She wasn’t in a bad mood though, not at all. She just gets shy around you.”

“Trixie is never shy!” Katya argues.

“No, not with other people. She is with you because…” He throws his hand in the air.

“Because what?” Katya whisper-shouts.

“She like you.” Sam says, incredulous. “She has the hots for you mama, have you not noticed? And then you were touching her leg up _like that_ and she just got a bit – I don’t know, _flustered_?”

Oh – “Oh!”

Whatever Katya was expecting, it wasn’t this. A swarm of bees is moving through the wrinkles in her brain. She wants to answer something intelligible, but the buzzing is too loud, it feels like she’s trying to tune a radio but all she finds is static.

“Do you not like her?” Sam must be tired of her silent panic.

“Yeah, I just- I didn’t realise.” She hadn’t, to be fair. She knows Trixie is attractive and she had found her endlessly intriguing, still does, and of course, she likes her. Trixie is her best friend. It just hadn’t occurred to her that the _like_ had shapeshifted into something bigger and whatever this beast is, it’s crushing her chest a little.

“You didn’t realise you liked her like that?” Sam has his eyebrows raised and his nose wrinkled. As though he can’t quite believe she’s actually that slow.

“No.”

She lets her head fall on the steering wheel; it sets off the claxon which in turn startles Oksana awake. She starts crying but Sam cradles her, and she calms down soon enough. He used his free hand to rub Katya’s back.

“Well now you know, so, that’s good right?” It’s supposed to be comforting but it’s not.

“It’s all such a mess! I’ve got another one of those on the way.” She turns her head to look at her daughter. “I can’t involve her in that, that’s too much to ask.”

“She’s already involved, Katya.”

“Yeah, but not like _that_ , not that involved.” She snivels.

Sam lets out a long sigh. “Okay, well. Y'all are gonna have to figure that out for yourselves then.”

If Sam has told Trixie about their conversation in the van, she hasn’t mentioned anything. Neither about Katya’s feelings for her nor about the pregnancy. Katya decides it’s time now; she has to tell her today. She’s also been thinking of a way to tell her daughter about her future sibling; she’s still getting a grasp on basic language, so she needs to do it in a simple, coherent way. Break it down into bite-size bits. If she’s gonna tell Trixie today she might as well tell them at the same time, that way it’ll be nonchalant, less confrontational. She might fool her into believing Katya isn’t scared out of her mind at the prospect of raising two children alone.

She doesn’t want to bother Trixie with that, not when she has all these soft feelings for her. They’re becoming fluffier by the minute as she’s watching them interact, pretending to read her book. Trixie is sitting on the carpet, long legs folded underneath her. She’s holding a fabric doll up to Oksana who’s fussing with its floppy limbs, making it dance. They’re both giggling and it’s adorable.

“Hey, can I hold that for a second?” she asks.

Trixie swiftly turns to her, raises her brow. “Wanna play with us?”

She gets up on her knees and crawls toward her, on her knees, lifts Oksana up on the settee. The toddler hands her the dolly.

“I wanna tell you something.” She fiddles with the puppet, pulls Oksana to sit in her lap.

“What is this?” She holds the doll up to her daughter.

“detka?” Oksana answers in Russian.

“Yes – Baby” Katya says.

“Baby.” The toddler repeats.

“Good! Mama has baby here.” Katya says pointing to her abdomen.

Oksana looks at her quizzically, Trixie’s eyes are bulging out of their sockets and her jaw is hanging so low, Katya can her entire row of bottom teeth.

The child looks at the dolly, then at Katya and points to her own belly.

“zhivot? Baby?” She asks.

“Da, mama has detka in her zhivot.” Katya answers, she’s rubbing her belly now. “you’re gonna be a big sister.”

The toddler doesn’t fully seem to comprehend, or she’s satisfied with the explanation because she simply shrugs and places a tiny hand on Katya’s stomach. Trixie follows her gesture with her adult-sized one and Katya traps both of them there with hers.

“You’re pregnant?” Trixie looks at her like she doesn’t quite believe it, but she’s smiling a little.

“Yeah, 13 weeks now.” Katya nods.

“Oh that’s – are you – are you happy?” Her voice is low, like she doesn’t want anyone else to hear her.

“Yes. It took me a while, but I am. I’m scared though.” Katya’s voice cracks a little on the last words.

“Hey, hey now. I’m here kitty kat” Trixie says in a soft voice. She puts her other hand on Katya’s free arm, rubs soft circles into the skin and presses a kiss on her wrist. “I’ll help you as much as you need. I can stay overnight in the beginning and sleep on the sofa. I could even quit my job if –”

“I know Trix, I know. I don’t think you’ll need to quit your job though.” Katya answers with a wink.

Trixie blushes. Her long eyelashes dust her cheeks as she looks down.

Katya cups her cheek. “I’m very grateful for you Tracy, I need you to know that.”

She hugs her tight, breathes into her hair while she does. This time she doesn’t miss how Trixie’s breath hitches; how her heart is pounding against Katya’s chest or how she’s flushed all the way from her ears to where her skin disappears behind her collar when they part.

Now that the Kat is out of the bag, she’s invited Trixie to come along with her and Oksana to Carson Beach. She’d been there with John the year prior and Oksana had had a great time playing in the waves and wiggling her little toes in the sand, and Katya thinks she might appreciate it even more now she’s a little older. It’s only mid-April and it is an uncharacteristically hot day for the season although it’s probably too cold to actually go for a swim. They can get their feet wet, chase the waves, and let the waves chase them. Katya has put her bathing suit on anyways, maybe she can do something about her Russian skin that turns so pale it’s near translucent in the winter. She’s packed a picnic too and they can sit in the sand on a blanket and eat and drink and enjoy each other’s company.

She had invited Sam and Elliot too, thinking it would be a good way to seem like normal couples and get stared at less, and also to get to know Elliot a bit better, since she’s only seen him a couple of times and he seems rather shy. Elliot had readily agreed but Sam had been inconspicuous and told them all they really had to work on this project they had just started and they needed to make progress with it. No time for fun!

Trixie had looked grateful. Katya was too if she’s honest.

So now it’s just the two of them on a blanket in the sand with food and drinks in between them. Oksana is standing wide-legged, bent over, digging her chubby arms into the sand. Something about finding pirate treasure. She’s very serious about it. Violet’s storybooks are rubbing off on the child and Katya has to laugh. She’s got a storm coming once the little one grows old enough to read for herself and form her own opinions, make her own arguments. She wonders what the new baby is going to be anything like her stubborn sister.

Katya’s belly is full and she feels saturated, satisfied. There is no breeze today and the sun is burning even hotter than expected and she’s really happy that she’s put her bathing suit on underneath her clothes. She gets up to undo her blouse and the clasp of her slacks, shoes already abandoned as soon as her feet made contact with the sand.

“You’re not going to flash me again are you?” Trixie laughs, already looking away, focussing her gaze on Oksana who’s moments away from toppling over. Somersaulting into the shallow hole she’s dug.

“No worries Tracy, I’m actually wearing something decent underneath my clothes this time.” Katya jokes back. She secretly wishes Trixie would flash her instead. She’s been staring at the exposed bit of her thigh, where her dress had ridden up when she’d sat down. It looks so soft.

“Oh thank the Lord! If you ever did that again I might have to gouge my eyes out, or get one of those lobotomies the doctors have been raving about lately.” Trixie raises an eyebrow at Katya, challenging her.

“Yeah… I’ve seen one of those being performed, wouldn’t recommend it, the poor thing couldn’t do anything but drool after it was done.” She says in disdain, shivering at the memory of it. “though they do say it cures lesb- Uhm… you know, our kind, so…”

“Well lucky for me then that you’ve decided to actually wear undergarments this time, so I don’t have to become a vegetable.” Trixie answers “You’d have to take care of me anyways, seeing as my predicament would be entirely your fault!” She jokes.

“Ha! No way Barbara, I’d leave you to the wolves, or with Sam but I’m not sure you’d be better off with him. I doubt he knows how to change a diaper.”

Trixie sticks her tongue out in response, she’s been focussing hard on something in Katya’s hair now that all her clothes are off and she’s left in her bathing suit. It’s a nice one, pretty new. John had bought it for her last year when they came here. It’s black with white stripes, or the other way around, Katya isn’t sure. The stripes accentuate the curve of her breasts and her hips, making them look more exaggerated, voluptuous than they actually are. It’s a strapless thing, which she can still get away with this early in her pregnancy. Her breasts have grown to a small C-cup, she knows they’ll grow even bigger, they did last time. She’s still got her pregnancy bras from three years ago when she’d grown from her normal B to a D-cup within those nine months. She would have been happy with them if they hadn’t been so sore and heavy.

Trixie seems to like this size, though she quickly looks away when Katya catches her staring. Something flutters in Katya’s stomach, and it isn’t the foetus. They really ought to be careful when they’re in public.

The past week they’ve been playing a cat and mouse game of gawking at each other’s bodies, then quickly looking away when the other catches on. They’ve not said a word about anything but the tension and the intention is there. They should probably have a talk about what’s going on between them at some point Katya thinks.

Trixie seems perfectly content with keeping her clothes on for the moment and Katya mourns the loss of opportunity. Trixie in a pink bikini wouldn’t be an image she’d forget any time soon.

They stay out until right before dusk when the temperature drops and the wind picks up. Oksana is sleeping on the bench in the back of Katya’s car, rolled in the picnic blanket they had been sitting on. Trixie is sitting in the passenger seat next to her and looks deep in thought. She’s been taking deep breaths, keeps slightly turning toward Katya and parts her lips every now and then as if to start a conversation but she has remained silent so far.

“What is it you want to ask me Tallulah?” Katya tries, to break the tension.

“Are you a psychic? How do you know if I want to ask you something?” Trixie jokes.

“Have you forgotten I’m the witch of the neighbourhood? I’m Baba, the old Russian hag who brews potions and hexes everyone I dislike. So you better stay on my good side, Doris!”

Trixie screeches. “Oh, so that’s why Martha-May wouldn’t drink the punch at your party!”

“Probably, she must have told the others about it too. Now that I think about it, I haven’t seen the tea party-potluck women for a while. They must be avoiding me again.” Katya replies pensively.

“doesn’t it bother you, the way they treat you?” Trixie asks, her voice low with sincerity.

Katya hums. “Not really, I’d rather have them scared of me, gives mem more power. They don’t know what they’re missing out on Tracy, I’m a delight. It’s their loss!” She says gleefully.

“You a delight? In what world, in what world I ask you?!” Trixie caws. “No but you’re right, they don’t know what they’re missing out on. I’m so glad I met you!”

Katya takes her hand off the gearstick and puts it on Trixie’s, giving it a squeeze. She briefly takes her eyes off the road to look Trixie in her eyes.

“I’m glad I met you too. And your strange little gang of misfits! I feel like I fit right in.” She laughs, turning her gaze back to out of the windshield and lets out a long sigh. “He would have liked you, you know, John. He always had an affinity for the cooky and the slightly insane.” Katya throws a mischievous glance over to Trixie.

“Clearly, he loved you!”

Katya looks up through her rearview mirror where she can just about see her little sleeping bunny on the back seat if she cranes her neck slightly. “He did, he really did love me so much.” She says sadly.

“Did you love him?” Trixie asks, it sounds a bit strained.

Katya sighs, tries to collect her thoughts for a second.

“Oh sorry Katya, I didn’t mean to…” Trixie trails off, doesn’t seem sure how to finish her sentence.

“No it’s fine, I loved him too you know. I wouldn’t have married someone I didn’t think I could love. It wasn’t like-” Like _whatever I’m feeling for you._ “Like, I wasn’t in love with him, if that’s what you’re asking. But I loved him a lot. He was so supportive of me, and he was such a good father.” Katya can’t stop the tears from collecting in her waterline. They’ll spill out soon. “I miss him so much, Trixie!” She tries to hold in a sob.

Trixie is silent beside her for a long while, just holds her hand over the gear stick, rubs soft but steady circles in her knuckles. When Katya manages to calm her sobs, Trixie reaches over and collects the tears on her cheeks with her thumb. She leans over to Katya and presses a soft kiss on her jaw.

“I don’t know what I’d do if Sam died. I’ve known him for so long, he really is my best friend. We share everything, understand each other on a deeper level. Was it like that for you two as well? Her voice is genuine and soft like silk. It makes Katya’s belly all warm, despite her still very present sadness.

“You know, there was a lot left unsaid between the two of us. But I think deep down we always understood each other, even if we weren’t on the same level all the time, we were always a great team. I’m happy to have them, so he lives on, in a way, you know?” Katya says, patting her belly and looking over her shoulder to her little ray of sunshine still sleeping behind her. Trixie just smiles at her, understanding. They share it too, this bond they’re talking about. They both know it, feel it. No need to say it out loud.

It’s dark when they arrive in their street. Katya stops her car in front of Trixie and Sam’s so Trixie can get out. Trixie thanks her for inviting her to the beach, tells her she’s had an amazing day, can’t wait to do it again once it’s warm enough to actually go for a swim. Then she pulls her into an intimate hug.

It’s one of those hugs that just feels different, Katya can tell. It’s warmer and tighter. There are unspoken feelings zapping between their heart spaces. She feels Trixie shift her head slightly to the right, nose grazing the short curly hairs behind her ear. It makes her sigh into it, lean forward and press her chest into Trixie’s. She can feel hot breath on her neck and it’s sending sparks all down her spine and up her scalp. She lets her hands travel from Trixie’s back, up to her shoulders. Lets one of them tickle the baby hairs at the nape of her neck and weaves her fingers into Trixie’s soft, golden hair. She feels Trixie shiver slightly.

Katya’s entire body is buzzing with something and she wants to pull away slightly to see Trixie’s face. To see her reaction. To see if it’s doing all the same things to her. And it seems to have. Trixie’s eyes are dark, her eyelids are low and her lips are slightly parted. Their faces aren’t far apart and it would be really easy to just- move a little closer. Just a little. Just close enough to brush her lips on Trixie’s soft, plumps, pink ones. She wonders what they’d feel like. If the buzzing would transform into something else if she would press her lips to Trixie’s.

As if subconsciously coordinated, they both move in closer. Their noses are almost touching now. Neither of them is breathing in a steady pattern anymore and the sound of heartbeats is filling the tinny confines of Katya’s red Lincoln Continental. Or maybe it’s just her own, resonating in her ears.

The bubble of tension is abruptly broken by a loud claxon behind them. The devil herself, Martha-May’s car. Or rather, her husbands. There really is enough space for them to just drive around Katya’s car but apparently, their sole existence is so inconvenient for them that they just can’t do it and had to interrupt the moment she was having with Trixie.

“Shit- Ugh, right, I should move the car.” Katya says looking over her shoulder, into the headlights of the car behind hers.

“Right, yeah, of course.” Trixie clears her throat, thanks her again.

And just like that, she’s gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to be really busy the next couple of weeks so it might take me a bit longer to write chapter 4, apologies in advance.
> 
> I love opinions and I love criticism. It's how I grow. Literally. And I'm trying to grow a good 2 inches! (I'll let you know if I succeed)


	4. And time goes by, so slowly and time can do so much.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trixie is gone for an entire week this time and for some stupid reason, Katya feels completely lost knowing she’s not across the street from her. She’s only been gone for five days and yet Katya’s chest feels strangely cold with it. Her limbs feel like they’ve tripled in weight; she hasn’t had any appetite even though her stomach has been an insatiable empty pit since the start of her pregnancy.
> 
> She tells herself it’s just the lack of sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, hello! I'm back!  
> Sorry for the wait. Also, sorry if you were hoping for some closure... But on the plus side, two more chapters coming your way soon(ish)!
> 
> Thank you so much to those who have liked, commented, and bookmarked. It makes me so happy!
> 
> Special shout out to [connyhascontrol](https://archiveofourown.org/users/connyhascontrol/pseuds/connyhascontrol) for giving me the inspiration for this chapter, for looking it over, and for helping me make it readable!  
> Thank you!
> 
> I'm sure you've all read her stuff, but if you haven't, do it! It's fantastic! 
> 
> This chapter is on the heavier side, but I hope you'll enjoy it just as much!

As summer sets in, Katya’s body changes.

It’d been subtle, but the changes are coming through rapidly now. She’s able to hide it under slightly longer, wider tops and looser trousers, but that’s not going to be the case for much longer. Pat has assured her that she really just looks a little plumper and that it suits her. No one else should notice. Yet, at night, when she changes into her pyjamas she looks at it in the mirror and it feels so alienating.

She had gotten used to the idea of having another child. Having a little baby she’ll get to hold in her arm and sniff their little head, count little fingers and toes, sing them softly to sleep. All the things she never thought she wanted before she had Oksana, and then couldn’t stop once she had held her in her arms for the very first time. They’re all very nice thoughts and she’s thought them a lot.

So far it had all been very abstract. She’s had nausea of course, and other symptoms she’d recognised from the last time, but there hadn’t really been any visible proof yet. Until now. And it’s seriously throwing her for a loop. The nice theoretical thoughts are turning into the reality of actually having to care for a toddler and a new-born in a few months. The panic that had made place for excitement has returned, tenfold. 

It’s been gradually getting warmer and warmer over the past couple of weeks, and while everyone has been enjoying it, going to beaches and lakes, Katya hates it. She’s sweating all the time, even more than before she was pregnant, and that’s really saying something. She’s not been sleeping well either. It’s bearable at the start of the night when she has the window wide open to let the slightest breeze in. But without fail in the middle of the night she wakes up and the mattress has turned into an oven. She’s simmering right on top of it and she has to get up every time before she starts to boil over. The sheets stick to her. The pillow feels like a brick under her head.

On the nights her bed isn’t trying to swallow her up in its flames from hell, the bones in her legs itch too much to keep them still, her back hurts too badly to get comfortable or Oksana’s incessant crying keeps her awake.

Her toddler has been growing at a lightning speed lately. She’s in a difficult phase and Katya isn’t sure whether it’s a normal stage of childhood development or if it has something to do with her not fully understanding why one of the most important people in her life has all of a sudden disappeared from it.

She’s been petulant and combative, doesn’t want to do anything Katya asks of her. She’s clearly in a ‘No’ phase and she’s been throwing tantrums at every possible juncture. A couple of nights ago, while she was sitting in a shallow bubble bath and Katya was washing her hair, she had an angry outburst and threw the enamel cup she was playing with at Katya’s head. It hit her right above her left eyebrow and has left a marbled blue bruise for everyone to see. Katya had told her off with a cold voice, stoically rinsed her hair, dried her and had put her in her cot with the rails up. Oksana had cried for a little while but had soon given up and fallen asleep.

Yesterday she hadn’t wanted to eat anything. She had thrown a spoon full of mashed peas on the floor and a minute later, her still full bowl had followed. Katya had put her on the veranda where she could still see her through the glass doors, but where they were separated enough for them both to cool off. Oksana had made such a ruckus by screaming her little heart out and throwing herself on the wooden deck, punching her chubby fists and kicking her tiny feet into the wood. If Katya hadn’t so desperately tried to hold in her tears of frustration, she probably would have laughed at the unfolding scene.

Of course, she’s only been acting this way with Katya. As soon as she’s with Pat or Trixie, she’s the absolute perfect angel they all know her to be. Trixie has been especially good at handling it. As soon as she sees Katya mentally counting to ten to keep her calm, she takes Oksana into a different room to distract her. Katya is grateful for it.

Trixie’s career has started to pick up a bit. She’s been booking a lot more gigs in town, and out of town. This week she’s been invited to play at a pretty well-known bar in Nashville and for the first time, she had to travel by airplane. Katya and Oksana had seen her off at the airport, waved at her while Trixie had disappeared behind the door of a rather small, rickety looking airplane. As soon as the ramshackle thing had left the ground, Katya had cried over her steering wheel, and Oksana had thrown another tantrum, screeching like a banshee in training.

Ever since Trixie and Katya met, they haven’t spent 24 hours apart. If there’s a day they can’t see each other, even for a couple of minutes to drink coffee or tea, Trixie will call her and tell her about her day or about irritating people she’s had to deal with before getting on stage to play her music. Trixie is gone for an entire week this time and for some stupid reason, Katya feels completely lost knowing she’s not across the street from her. She’s only been gone for five days and yet Katya’s chest feels strangely cold with it. Her limbs feel like they’ve tripled in weight; she hasn’t had any appetite even though her stomach has been an insatiable empty pit since the start of her pregnancy.

She tells herself it’s just the lack of sleep.

All in all she’s maybe slept 4 hours last night, if not less. She got woken up early this morning by Oksana crying. When she’d gone to pick her out of her cot, she had told her “NO!” and only wanted to be helped by her dad. Katya had had to conjure patience all the way up from her toes like a slow growing vine. When they had eventually reached a mutual agreement, they’d spent about two hours on the deck, Oksana with lukewarm milk and Katya with a cup ofEarl Grey so bitter it made her shudder at every sip, staring into the garden like a pair of zombies.

There are a lot of chores to do and errands to run today. Pat is off on a day trip with the ladies from her church so Katya has to take Oksana with her to all the stores she needs to go to. She’s already dreading the day, can already tell it’s going to be a painful excursion.

The atmosphere had changed while trying to wrestle Oksana into some clothes. She hadn’t wanted to wear anything Katya had picked out and had insisted on only wearing a bright orange woolly jumper with nothing else, even though it was way too hot for the June weather. In the end Oksana had settled for a pink pinafore because Katya had managed to argue that ‘Trixie wears a lot of pink, so she’d like it if you wore this’ which had seemingly convinced the toddler.

As she’s changing into her own clothes, she looks at her reflection in the mirror. Her belly button has started to poke out slightly and she runs her finger over it softly. The pink stretch marks that her last pregnancy had given her have become lighter with the pull of the taut skin. He had been concerned about them then, lathering her belly up in oils and cream every morning and night so she wouldn’t get any. She got them anyway. Large and purple and pink stripes. She wonders what Trixie would think of them while she traces her hands over the slope of her stomach.

Her fingers graze the marbled skin, tinted with blues, purples and greens, above her eye. She winces slightly at the pressure of her fingertips on it. Her face powder won’t mask it, and even if it would, she would sweat it off within minutes. She’ll just have to feign confidence. If she pretends nothing is there, maybe people won’t see it. It’s worked so far in her life.

Oksana is already starting before they’ve even set foot in the shop. She’s trying to wiggle her way out of Katya’s grasp, kicking her leather Mary Janes into Katya’s belly. 

“Stop that,” she hisses into the toddler’s ear. She can’t let her wander about the store, Katya knows that’ll be a disaster. Oksana is an adventurous child and she’ll grab things off the shelves, open boxes, tins and jars. She wouldn’t put it past her daughter to even try and make a run for it. Katya is really not in the mood for it today. Her lower back is already sweating.

“Morning” An unenthusiastic voice sounds from the back of the store. “I’ll be with you in a minute.”

“Good morning.” It sounds convincingly American. She’s worked hard for it too. Listening to radio shows, repeating the words over and over again, trying to get rid of her heavy accent in the very first years after she had come here. People had always been a little cold with her when they detected her accent. Sooner or later it was inevitable, always. There were always tricky words she couldn’t get out correctly, and she could only talk so slowly before risking sounding off in a different way.

Katya grunts loudly when Oksana gives her another hard kick, right on her inner thigh this time. She’s done with it. Puts her to stand on the floor, keeping a firm grip on her chubby arm so she won’t mosey. The toddler, however, immediately tries pulling her arm away. Starts making discontented grumbles.

A young man appears from the door behind the counter, “How can I help you ma’am?” He looks like he’s in his early twenties. Probably working here during the summer, helping out whoever else this shop belongs to as a store clerk.

This isn’t the pharmacy Katya normally goes to, but it opened recently and it’s much closer to her than the one across town where she knows the people behind the counter. This one is much smaller and doesn’t look quite organised yet. There are boxes on the floor, and some of the top shelves are still empty, a stepladder placed in front of them as though they’re in the process of filling them.

Oksana is getting more and more restless at Katya’s side, wanting to explore the area, sniff out all the nooks and crannies of the place. “Ma’am, can I help you?” The young man asks again. It startles Katya a little and Oksana takes the opportunity to break free from her mothers grip. Starts for one of the boxes and Katya can’t see what’s in them. She really ought to check.

“I’m looking to buy some zinc oxide.” Katya turns toward her toddler who’s now bent over the box, reaching her short arm into it.

“Alright, what do you need it for?” the young fellow inquires.

Katya bristles at the question. She doesn’t like to explain the things she buys at the best of times to an actual pharmacist, certainly not this underqualified bloke who doesn’t know a thing about ointments, salves and medication. 

“Diaper rash.” She replies over her shoulder. The box contains glass vials, some still wrapped in newspaper, neatly stacked next to each other. On top of them sits a little ceramic horse figurine. It’s white and has a flowy yellow mane. Oksana gets a hold of it before Katya has a chance to yank her away. She takes a steadying breath, knowing this will be drama.

“Oh I’m sorry ma’am, if you’re suffering from—uhm… Incontinence, you should really go see a doctor. They can prescribe you something better suited.” The clerk says in a hushed voice.

“It’s for my child.” Katya pinches the bridge of her nose, trying to relieve the type of headache brought on by idiocy.

“Oh right, of course. How old is your child, ma’am?” He cranes his neck to get a better look at Oksana from his position behind the counter.

“Almost three.” Katya huffs. Oksana is pressing the little horse firmly to her chest. “Give it to me, honey.” She doesn’t, stubbornly twists out of Katya’s grasp and makes her way to the counter again. On top of it sits a large glass jar filled with hard candy.

“I don’t believe a three-year-old should still be wearing a diaper ma’am.” He looks at her sternly, as though he’s a doctor telling his patient off for not following orders.

“Do you have a child, or a much younger sibling you are taking care of yourself, young man?” Katya’s patience is sinking to her feet faster by the second. It crosses paths with a bout of nausea making its way up, she has to breathe through.

“No, but I’ve finished my first year of medica-”

“Then you have no knowledge of childcare. Please get me some zinc oxide so I can leave, I have more things to do today.” Katya cuts him off sharply.

The young fellow swiftly turns on his heels and makes his way over to the product she’s looking for on one of the shelves. He puts a little glass pot on the counter before her.

“That’ll be 25 cents, ma’am.” He looks a bit shaken and Katya almost feels bad for him. Almost, that is, before he comes around to her side and crouches down with the large candy jar for Oksana to pick one out.

“No!” It comes out a yell. “She’s too young for that, she could choke!” Katya proves her earlier point. This fool, trying to challenge her parenting skills. The chap quickly stands up and places the jar back on the counter. The offense, however, has been committed. Oksana starts crying, clutching the little horse figurine tighter to her chest.

“She has to give that back, that’s our store mascot,” the chap says coldly.

Katya reaches in her bag; she puts her wallet down to pay and reaches for the packet of crackers she put in it for Oksana. She holds one out to her, a peace offering. Maybe they can trade; crackers for figurine. Seems fair. Oksana doesn’t seem to like the transaction. She just starts crying harder. 

“Come on, honey, give it to me please,” Katya tries. She’s conscious not to use her usual pet names for her daughter when out in public, in front of people she doesn’t know well. It most likely isn’t helping in this situation, only alienating herself from the already distressed child. She tries to pry the horse from her fingers. Oksana’s grasp is surprisingly strong.

“Give it to me Ana.” It comes out colder this time, “Now.”

“Net, moy!” Oksana wails. Katya picks her up, wrestles the ceramic animal from her daughter with force. “bros' eto!” It comes out before she can really think about it, frustration taking a hold of her thinking brain.

Oksana obeys and drops the little figurine on the counter. It makes a hard sound but doesn’t break. The bloke looks at them with wide eyes. Then there’s stumbling from the back room. The door opens and a man, presumably the pharmacist, comes to stand next to the boy. 

“Russian,” he spits. It’s an accusation, not a question. “We don’t serve commies here,” he spews at her, snatching the pot of cream from the counter, holding it firmly in his hand as though she could still somehow conjure it. His fingers turning white against the glass.

“Sir, I need to buy that for my child, please.” She doesn’t even know why she bothers. She really ought to just turn around, walk out the door and drive to the pharmacy across town, with the nice people.

“If you need it that badly, your soviet comrades can send you some.” Katya can spot a nasty vein in his neck, bulging, ready to pop. There is no arguing with this man, she knows, still some part of her can’t help but want to.

Oksana has seemingly had enough of the display as she kicks her feet on the wooden surface of the counter, almost swiping the horse to the floor. 

“Stop it,” Katya yells. She’s already turning, child in arm, out the door and climbing into her car.

As she’s driving she has to focus with all her might not to cry. Oksana is on the backbench, still kicking her feet, punching her fists into the leather of the backrest of the passenger seat. It becomes entirely impossible to drive, tears obstructing Katya’s vision and her pounding brain is trying to push her right eye out of her skull. She stops on the side of the road, halfway to where she needs to be. She’s not in this part of town very often and she doesn’t recognise a lot of her surroundings. She’ll need to put gas in her car soon but doesn’t know where she can find the closest station here. Suddenly her car door opens and a hand rests on her upper arm. 

“Kitty! Hey, come on, I’ll make you some tea.” Elliot is ushering her out of the car, already with Oksana in his arms. The toddler has miraculously calmed down. Katya tries to steady herself against the stone wall as Elliot guides her through the hallways of his apartment. “Sit down,” he says, pulling out a chair for her at his small kitchen table. She’s never been in his home before. He’s always at Trixie and Sam’s when they meet, or at the bar, or the shelter. They’ve never really been alone before.

Elliot rubs a large hand up and down her back as she tries to calm her breaths; they’re still coming in shudders and hitches, small sounds escaping her lungs every time she tries to inhale. 

“Shhhh.” Elliot pulls her into his arms, rakes his fingers softly through her hair like John used to when she’d had a nightmare. It’s wonderfully familiar and soothing. “What happened?” Elliot eyes her concernedly. Katya’s breath is still a little ragged but she can speak again.

“Kid’s being a nightmare and the pharmacist was a dick,” she croaks.

“A dick in what way?” Elliot asks, looking over his shoulder at Oksana who’s playing, now serenely, with a wooden puppet clearly hand carved by him.

“I slipped and spoke Russian to Xana, then he told me he wouldn’t sell me the cream I need for her. I usually don’t let it get to me like this, but I’m running on fumes at the moment.”

“Hmmm,” is all Elliot answers for a moment, and then, “That happens a lot does it?”

“Yeah, not as much as it did in the beginning when my accent was stronger but, yeah. When it’s not shopkeepers, it’s the neighbours or somebody else.” Katya feigns indifference.

“People are awful, Katya, they always will. I don’t know how to help you with that. But there is a pharmacy around the corner from here. I can run and grab what you need if you write it down for me.”

“That’d be really kind of you, Elliot.” He gives her a pen and a scrap of paper.

“And what about these fumes?” He teases gently.

“I’m just tired. It’s a lot. It’s been a lot lately. I’m not sleeping very well,” Katya explains rubbing her stomach, “and she’s been a total nightmare lately. I know she’s just in that exasperating toddler phase where she’s testing all the limits, but I also think she’s just confused about John not being around.” Katya blows over the hot tea Elliot’s just put in front of her. It’s too warm for it outside but it’s soothing against her hands, the steam tickling her upper lip. She lets out a deep breath.

“I can imagine. Is it harder this week?” He tilts his head to the side, eyeing her carefully.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, with Trixie gone…” He shrugs, as if it’s obvious.

Katya sighs. She hadn’t thought about it that way, but it has been. Everything has been more of a fight. She’s felt heavy and sunken where she normally has high peaks during the day, when Trixie comes to visit or calls her. She hasn’t gotten them these last couple of days. Trixie has been far too busy to call her every day; she’s only spoken to her once, when she had landed. The realisation prickles between her shoulder blades. Her stomach does a little somersault.

“I think I’m in love with her, Elliot.” She presses her hands to her face, rubbing her brow.

“Oh, honey.” He rubs her back again, rests his large hand against the back of her neck and gives it a reassuring pinch. “We can see that, you know.”

Katya looks up at him, grimaces and shuts her eyes again. She leans her elbows on the table and rests her aching head in her hands. The panic is starting to rise again. She wants to sit in a little corner, press her spine against the hard bricks of the apartment until they bruise. Yank at her hair so hard they separate at the follicle. Claw at her bald scalp until there is nothing left but exposed bone and bits of grey matter. Give herself a nice little lobotomy so her brain won’t lead her straight into any more traps.

“Did you not know until just now?” Elliot asks carefully.

“No, I did, sort of, I just-” She huffs again, “It’s just…”

“Yeah, I know.” His simple answer is enough, she knows he understands. “It was hard for me too.”

“Did you always know you’re-- you know?”

“No, I didn’t. I fancied girls a lot when I was younger. I still do. But then I met some boys I liked and I began to question it all.” He looks out the window for a moment. “Then I met a boy who was into me too, and we had sort of, well, can’t really call it a relationship… A fling. And that confirmed my feeling. Then I met this girl I really liked and she really wanted to marry me, but then I met Sam and I liked him a lot more than I liked her.” He smiles at her sheepishly.

Katya thinks for a minute, lets what’s left of her brain process the information. “But why would you choose to live a more difficult life if you also really liked this girl?”

“Because, like I said, I liked Sam a lot more, and that was enough for me. I didn’t want to be stuck in a life knowing I could have something better, even if that meant I’d have to hide it sometimes or face hardships now and then.” The corners of his mouth aren’t turned up but his eyes are smiling and sincere. “And I made the right choice. I would’ve loved her, I’m sure, for a while perhaps. But me and Sam, that’s real, and I know it’ll be real for a long time. It’s worth all the hard moments.”

Katya smiles, a couple of tears escape her waterline. “Yeah, I guess it would be.” She sniffles. “It’s just you two though, I’ve got another two tiny people to think about. Their safety and happiness.”

“Sure, but don’t you think they can sense your unhappiness, Katya? I think they’d be much better off with a mother who’s truly happy and unapologetically herself than with one who hides her truth from herself and the world. Which you are already doing partially, by the way. Look at you, you’re going to the meetings, you’re helping organise all these things for Bob and Shea, and you hang out with us all the time. You’re already an independent woman, fighting against the grain, you’ve done the hardest part already. The rest will be easy, trust me. All you have to do now is to accept love. And it’s waiting for you readily, believe me!” A wink concludes his statement.

“Right, you’re going to drink another cup of tea while I run down to grab your--” He looks at the crumpled piece of paper. “Zinc oxide?” Katya nods. Elliot leaves her alone in his tiny kitchen, Oksana still muttering to herself on the floor, dancing the wooden figure in the air.

Her heart has calmed, though it flutters gently at the thought of Trixie. Of her smell and the kiss they almost shared. Of the joy she feels when she gets to speak with her and the electric current that runs through her when their skin touches, when they hug. How she’s wanted all these things with Trixie so much more than she’s ever wanted anything from John.

She most likely wouldn’t have left him if she had met Trixie while he was alive, but the point is that he’s not. He won’t ever be again and she’s a widow, and she loves Trixie. 

She loves a woman. 

And everyone around her is suggesting that the woman loves her too. Still, it’s a scary thought and it makes her head pound again. It’s a funny battle, she’s never seen it as a bad thing in others, although she’s been taught that it is. She’s never cast that kind of judgement, maybe because she’s always known it also lived inside herself. Yet it’s in such chagrin at her own predicament.

She thinks maybe Elliot was right in saying that her kids would be better off with someone who’s truly happy and not living a false life. She’s been happy, for the first time in a long time, since she met Trixie. Oksana had immediately connected with Trixie too, and had been just as smitten with her as Katya is. Maybe that proves Elliot’s point further. That Oksana can sense when Katya is truly happy and adjusts accordingly, knowing it’s safe. 

She sighs deeply, rubs her temples. The inner battles won’t take a hiatus.

There’s a loud bang outside, possibly from an exhaust pipe on someone’s car. It startles Oksana into a loud wail. Not this again, Katya grumbles and comes into action. Her knees click when she bends them to pick up the child for comfort. She tries to pull away.

“Dorogoy, let me hold you.” She tries, voice calm and steady. Nothing. Just struggles and wails. They get louder and louder in Katya’s ears. She has to count to ten to not start herself. Her frustration built up high over the past couple of days, it’s starting to spill over into her behaviour. “Detka, come on, sweetheart.” Oksana just sobs, shakes her head no, pushing Katya’s hands away.

It makes her feel so powerless to not be able to comfort her daughter. Her sunshine has dimmed and Katya can’t bear to see it, also can’t bear to feel like she’s not the one wanted right now. There’s nothing else to offer, no one on the side-line.

“Dada,” Oksana weeps. “Dada.”

“Moye solntse, dada isn’t here, my love.” She holds her arms out for the little girl in the hopes she’ll waddle into them. She doesn’t. Her daughter starts kicking her tiny feet again.

In the background Katya hears the door open again and Elliot walks in, though he stays silent.

“Milaya, shhhh, calm down.” She takes a hold of the toddler, cradling her to her chest. Oksana writhes herself out of her grip, yanks out the scarf in Katya’s hair in the process. It jolts a sharp pain through her scalp. She backs away slightly, leaving her child some room. Oksana keeps bawling and belligerently throws the wooden puppet at Katya. It hits her square in the shin and she winces, whines at the hot pain it wreaks. Another child-inflicted bruise to add to the collection.

“Want dada!” Oksana blubbers, snot dripping from her button nose, tears and spit mixing with it. She’s blowing bubbles with every exhale, crying so hard she can’t seem to catch a breath anymore. It makes Katya start to weep again too, she doesn’t know how to handle the situation, feels the control slip through her fingers like fine sand. 

“Dada is gone, he’s left us,” she wails. “He’s dead! Gone!” It comes out pained and croaky. It’s not so much anger as it’s frustration. Or maybe some anger, perhaps directed at him.

When she tries to get a hold of her kid again, Oksana just yells, “No, no no noooo!” and flails her chubby arms furiously at Katya so she has to take a step back, come out of her crouched position. Katya is crying just as hard as Oksana. A firm hand comes to Katya’s shoulder. 

“Let me try?” Elliot asks gently, voice low and comforting. Katya just nods through her sobs. Doesn’t know what else she could offer her child at this moment. Elliot steps towards the flailing thing, takes her in his firm grasp and holds her tightly against him. She’s still struggling but soon just cries on his shoulder.

Katya downs her now cold tea in large gulps. She feels dehydrated from all the tears, her face tight with salt and swollen from emotion. She breathes deeply a couple of times. “Can I leave her with you for a minute? I think I need to clear my head.”

“Yes, of course, take your time.” Elliot reaches his hand towards her, but they’re standing too far apart to touch. Still, the gesture is reassuring. “I’ll be over at Sam’s tonight, why don’t you pick her up there? Take the rest of the afternoon for yourself.” Katya nods, then leaves.

She doesn’t even realise she’s driven to the cemetery until she halts her car right in front of its gate. Seems fitting. Where else would she go to think but to the person who's causing all this grief? She hasn’t brought anything; she realises as she’s walking up the stone path. Serves him right, to not get anything alive and flourishing when he’s put them in this state.

Not even sure what she’s doing there, she walks up to the stone. It’s a large grey, speckled slab of granite with large white letters on it. Not the prettiest thing but the hospital had paid half of it and thus, they had also gotten a say in which stone was chosen. Them all being middle-aged men in positions of power had had nothing to do with Katya giving in to this ugly thing, nothing at all.

It’s large, and it’s wedged between the double grave of John’s parents and that of someone named Carl. He has a much nicer stone; it’s light in colour and has cursive text on it. There’s a large flower bed planted all over the grave The colourful display speaks of joy and celebration, not of grim mourning.

Katya balls her fists and stretches her fingers again, not sure what to do now that she’s standing in front of him. She hasn’t been here in a while, visited a couple of times right at the beginning because people had told her it was good to talk to the dead. It gave closure or something akin. It hadn’t, so she’d stopped.

She huffs, shakes her head. Stupid. Pointless. 

So she makes for her car again. In long certain strides. She’ll just go home, draw herself a bath and think her thoughts there. She doesn’t know why she even came here.

Once in her car, she turns the key, ready to leave. The thing sputters, objects. Once, twice, nothing. She turns the key again. Same song. Once, twice, splutter, puff, groan. Nothing. She frowns and – fuck! She checks the gauge; it's empty. 

Katya had completely forgotten to get gas. She’s known her car was dangerously low, and yet it had completely escaped her mind. And now she’s stuck. She could call Ginger, but she has no idea where the nearest payphone is, and she’d have to walk a little to get to a residence to ask someone to use their phone.

Anger builds in her chest again; a spikey critter that’s bouncing off her ribs, pricking her simmering organs with its long skewers. She forces her way out of the car again, cracking her spine in the process. She walks back to the grave, fists balled up at her side, frown a permanent etching on her forehead.

She’s livid.

There’s nothing to do but to scream.

Words are pouring out of her in a perpetual waterfall. She vomits them all over his gravestone, lets them seep into the ground he was buried in. Maybe he’ll be able to hear them through his casket, she thinks, knowing he won’t. Good for him. He’s got no problems, has left them all with her, six feet above ground. Motherfucker.

“You left me alone!” She yells. What the old people a couple of rows in front of her thinks she couldn’t care less about.

“You’ve left me all alone here! With a fucking child. With  _ your _ daughter and another one. What am I supposed to do with another baby, huh?! Didn’t think that through, did you? When you walked into the street not looking around you. Not paying attention to anyone but yourself. No wonder you got run over by that car, you narcissistic piece of shit! Serves you right for only ever thinking about what  _ you _ want to do. You wanted to get married. You wanted to take me to America. You wanted to have babies. And I did exactly what  _ you _ wanted and look at me now. Fucking look at me! Two children! And I didn’t even want any to begin with! I don’t even fucking _ like _ children!”

She stops to gulp down some air. Her chest is heaving. The bright sun is beating down on her, making her head pound and her legs unsteady. She feels drunk with it.

The elderly couple has left.

“Oksana has become a little fucking tyrant, determined to make my life a living hell, and your stupid foetus makes me want to claw my own eyeballs out! I came to America for you! I don't even want to be here, and America doesn't want me here either. What did you think was gonna happen, huh?! Bringing a commie to the  _ precious _ United States. You thought they’d all just magically accept me, since I’m  _ your _ wife?”

Tears are streaming down her face. Her throat is wet with them and soon her blouse will be too. She presses her feet into the hard ground, raking the pointed toes of her shoes through the dry dirt. Maybe she’ll cry so much that flowers will sprout from it. Not that he deserves flowers, she argues with her own brain.

“You narcissistic twat. You arrogant cunt. You no good piece of shit! You’re so far up your own ass that you couldn’t even see I never even loved you from the very start. Could you?” She sneers. “And then you leave me alone in a country I fucking hate with two fucking children to take care of.  _ Two _ ! And you have the audacity to get your face so smashed up that we have to put you in a closed casket at your wake. Your own daughter didn’t even get to say goodbye to you. You fucking excrement. She doesn’t understand! Now she’s angry at me because you left. Svo-lach! zhizn’ ebet meya.”

Her brain loses track of what comes out of her, the sentences rising up her throat like bile, burning her organs. Her sobs become one with the stream of words and even if there were any people around her, they wouldn’t be able to understand anything she’s screaming at him. It’s nothing but an unintelligible outpouring of wails, Russian and broken American mixing in with the dirt, creating a muddy pool at her feet.

With every breath she tries to take it feels like her chest is being forcefully pushed in. Her eyes are so swollen she can barely make out the lettering on the stone. ‘Loving husband and father’ My ass, she thinks. A loving husband and father wouldn’t get himself killed.

The dizziness is getting worse, and her stomach is cramping from the sobs and the distress. She has to steady herself on the gravestone to not fall over, but her knees are too weak to hold her up and she slides down onto the ground against the hot granite.

The sun is hanging lower in the sky, but it’s still mocking her with its pounding heat. Her body feels too small for all its contents. Where she had felt the little child in her flutter about her belly a couple of hours earlier, it now lies still, unmoving.

How long she’s been there, she can’t be sure. She might even have dozed off at some point because her tongue feels thick in her dry mouth and her neck is stiff. Her left leg is numb from her awkward position and someone is shaking her out of her daze. She has to blink a couple of times to adjust her eyes to the light again and has to squint to make out the figure above her, low flares obstructing her vision.

“Katya.” Then again, “ _ Katya _ !”

She groans, tries to clear her throat. It feels as if she swallowed barbed wire. Her saliva is thick and gets stuck halfway down her oesophagus. When she tilts her head up again, bangs it against the stone, Sasha’s figure shakes her shoulder more insistently.

“Hey, are you alright?” The look on her face tells Katya she probably doesn’t look alright.

“I’m fine.”

“Oh, sure, is that why your face is all red and your eyes are puffy and you’re sleeping in a cemetery?” Sasha’s tone is too sarcastic for Katya’s liking.

“Yeah, I got it out of my system, I’m fine now.”

“Hmmm,” is all Sasha says. She seems to select her words with care before she speaks them. “You know – you know you don’t always have to be fine, right? You can’t always be fine.” She runs a hand over the stubble that’s growing back on her head. Katya wishes she had the balls to shave all her hair off like Sasha. Not that it would look good on her, she has a wonky ear and her own hair is so big and curly and unruly that shaving it all off would probably make her head look tiny in comparison.

“You can be not fine sometimes. Especially now. And you can tell us about it. Me, Trixie, Shea, Bob, Sam, I’d say Ginger, but I doubt she’d be of much help other than maybe get you someone to take home…” Sasha’s laugh sounds hollow. “I’m pretty sure you’re not fine, Katya, and no one expects you to be. You’ve had to make some pretty big adjustments lately. That can’t be easy. It’d be good for you to talk about it, maybe? Instead of bottling it up like you do, I know your type…” She nudges Katya’s shoulder with her fist and gives her an understanding wink. Then she sits down next to Katya on the ground, resting her back against the gravestone as well.

“I didn’t talk either, not with my parents anyway. I had to learn it, flip a switch one day and allow myself to process my feelings instead of bottling them up. The pressure gets too high, doesn’t it? And then the glass shatters cause glass isn’t unbreakable and then you just –  _ boom _ – explode one day.” She’s smiling but her eyes are knowing and serious. “And I think talking about it with someone would be much better than exploding in the middle of a cemetery, don’t you?”

“Did – did you hear that?”

“Oh mama, I think even the dead and deceased heard you. Luckily no one really comes here this late on a Wednesday.” Another wink.

Katya groans, it’s all she seems to be able to do. She wants to get up but her leg is still numb and maybe her butt cheek too. So instead she rubs her hands over her face, erasing the tightness of salty tracks her tears have left after drying.

“Okay, let me help you, you really don’t look too good.” Sasha stands up and pulls Katya up by her hands. She lets Katya lean her arm over her shoulders, and they start walking in the opposite direction Katya came from. “I’m parked over there,” Sasha clarifies when she sees Katya look over her shoulder.

“Why are you here?” she asks.

“I came to visit my babushka.” Sasha simply states. “I heard you but didn’t want to disturb you. It sounded like you really needed to get all that stuff off your chest. I left to go buy some groceries but when I came past here again I saw your car was still here and I felt like I should check on you. And then I found you asleep on top of a grave…” Katya sniffles, doesn’t know how to respond to anything anymore. “By the way, did anyone ever tell you your accent is so strong when you’re angry?” Sasha teases.

“How come you don’t have one?” Katya huffs.

“I was born here,” Sasha says. “You’ve done a good job on yours though! It’s always really subtle and really charming too. Although I might be biased because my mama speaks like that too. I just thought it was funny how much it changed when you were shouting all those American profanities at a gravestone.” Her eyes are challenging Katya. After a moment they both burst out laughing.

Sasha opens the passenger door of her car for Katya and helps her lower herself into the seat, then walks around to her side and settles behind the wheel.

“Did you mean all of that? About your children, is it too much?” Sasha’s voice is tentative, like she knows the answer but is still afraid she might be wrong.

“No, of course not. Maybe, sometimes, when I get really sad or when Oksana is really testing my limits. But I do love her so much. Even though she’s a little devil at the moment!” Katya chuckles weakly, chews on the corner of her lip. “I love the baby too, already, I’d never do anything to hurt them.”

“No, of course, I know. I just, you know, in case it would all get too much for you… We’re here, okay? We can help you, with anything, everything! I’ll even babysit for you; I promise I won’t teach her Russian curse words.” Sasha grins.

“I know. It’s not too much. It is sometimes, but it’s not, you know what I mean? I could do with a couple of days off though. But I’m scared that wouldn’t be good for her, so soon after--” She gestures back to the cemetery, “I don’t know if she’d understand if I left her with Pat or Trixie for a night or two when her dad has just up and disappeared from her life. She might think I have too.”

“Yeah, she might think that, but you won’t disappear. And then she’ll see that you’ve come back for her. It’s better for you to take a break when you feel like you need one. You’re no good to her if you’re overworked and on edge. And I don’t have any medical knowledge but I highly doubt all that stress is good for your little monster in there, Kat.” Sasha taps a finger on Katya’s stomach.

After dropping her off at home, Sasha tells her she’ll get Ginger to come to the cemetery with her the next morning and bring Katya’s car back for her, with a full tank. Katya hugs her, kisses her on the cheek and thanks her for being a  _ sestra _ .

Once Sasha has driven off, she turns to the Mattel residency. Sam opens the door and envelops her in a strong hug. Katya feels herself deflate a little. She’s taken by the hand and led inside. Oksana is asleep on Elliot’s lap. She has a cup of milk still clutched in her fist, plush bunny in the other. He’s stroking her hair in steady motions. Katya can’t help but smile at the display, her heart filling with warmth at the sight of her sleeping daughter. Yet she feels so drained at the thought of having to put her in bed later, and having to get up to tend to her crying in the middle of the night, and tomorrow morning.

Sam urges her to sit down. He joins her and takes her hands in his. “Hey,” he says, “We were thinking maybe it’d be a good idea if we swapped places tonight?”

Katya cants her head to the side, looking at him in confusion.

“I mean, as in you sleep here and we sleep at yours with Oksana. It’d give you a break while she’s in her own, safe environment. We think you could use a night of full, uninterrupted sleep.” Elliot nods in agreement, careful not to move.

“Okay.” Katya’s too tired to argue with them. Silently she agrees that it would indeed be nice to get some serene sleep. She’d drift off right here on the couch if they left her, turned off the lights.

“Okay, I’ll go pick some stuff for us and then you can come open your door, getting all your things before you come back here. You can sleep in Trixie’s bed, she wouldn’t mind.” Katya nods.

Katya goes through the motions of her evening routine with lethargic movements. When she finally climbs into Trixie’s bed, it feels as though she’s right there with her. It’s comforting and she slips into a deep sleep almost immediately. She only wakes up at eleven the next day, can’t recall the last time she slept that long.

When she shifts in the sheets, she can smell a familiar fragrance. Everything smells entirely like Trixie. Flowery and sweet, hints of honey rose but with something deeper underneath, like a warm body after a good night's sleep. Again, she can almost feel Trixie there with her, enveloping her like the soft sheets she’s under. Her breath tickling the nape of her neck, hands rubbing up and down her arms.

She presses her face into the pillow, inhaling the scent deeply. It shoots a little spark of desire from her belly to her thighs. She moans softly at it, grips the pillow tightly and buries her face in it deeper. It’d be disgusting but she almost wants to make out with it, it smells so deliciously like Trixie.

One of her hands wanders to her breasts, giving it a little squeeze. It’s tender, not entirely sore, but pleasantly sensitive to the touch. Her nipple perks at it instantly. She rubs at it, plays with the nub, flicking it back and forth until it gets too delicate. Her breath hitches a little at her own venture. The sneaky hand crawls its way down her stomach, stroking along the slope of it, tickling at her hip bone, pulling ever so lightly at the hair on her pubic bone. Her hips buck into the touch, nose still firmly pressed into Trixie’s scent. She moans again, louder this time, when her fingers make their way into her wetness. Stroking up and down, spreading it through her folds and her hair. She doesn’t bother taking her underwear off. Somehow that feels too invasive of Trixie’s privacy. Not the flicking of her own clit though. She flinches slightly at the touch. She gets so sensitive when pregnant. All her senses are heightened and every touch is getting her wetter and wetter. She curls a finger in herself, pressing against the soft spot she knows makes her quiver. It’s hot and burns with craving.

Her breaths are coming in tethered and strained. Another finger joins the first, palm firmly pressed against her clit. She tries to concentrate on not drooling all over Trixie’s pillow. But she has to keep her mouth open to catch the littlest bit of oxygen from where her face is escaping the pillow. She rubs her nose in it, as though to transfer the delectable smell onto herself. Katya’s hand works fast inside herself. Her thighs are starting to burn with strain, a shiver runs up her spine and she’s so close. She tilts her hand ever so slightly so her thumb is rubbing against the bundle of nerves. It jolts electricity through her. Another couple of strained breaths, her legs shaking, and she has to throw her head back to drink in air as she reaches her peak, caressing herself through it until she’s nothing but a convulsing mess.

When she’s come down, and lying on her back, head empty and content, she hears the front door open. Strident footsteps make their way upstairs. Heels. Obviously. Then there’s a knock on the door. It creaks open warily before she can answer. Trixie’s head pops through the tight gap between the door and its frame.

“Hey.” She smiles.

“Hey, come in,” Katya says, only to realise her mistake when she feels still wet hand on her own thigh.

Trixie takes two long strides and sits down on the side of the bed, rests her hand on Katya’s exposed shoulder. “How are you?” She almost whispers.

“Better.” Katya says in the same tone. “Why are you back so soon?”

“Sam called me yesterday. I came straight home, cancelled all my bookings.”

“You didn’t have to do that!” Katya says in her normal voice, it sounds harsh against the walls.

“I know.” Trixie answers still hushed. “But I wanted to.” She strokes Katya’s hair, then gets up again to toe her shoes off. She crawls straight into the sheets behind Katya, still fully clothed, and envelops her in a safe embrace.

“I’ve missed you.” Katya says breathlessly.

“I’ve missed you too.” Trixie presses a feathery kiss behind her ear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry! I hope I redeemed myself with the ending!  
> If you liked it, please leave a like or a comment, I'd love to hear what you think!
> 
> I made a [Tumblr](https://gluteus-maxinus.tumblr.com/), I'm a hundred years old and don't know how to use it so don't expect any quality content. But come say hi if you'd like!


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